I Still Believe
by Ranranami
Summary: Immediately following the events in 'Good Times', David and Michael have a pretty rough road ahead of each other, no thanks to a few major mistakes on David's part. The Frog brothers may not be hunting vampires anymore, either, but that doesn't mean they don't have a whole new set of issues they'll drag Sam kicking and screaming into anyway. Mostly werewolves.
1. Chapter 1: The Truth

Author's notes: Okay. Definitely the final part to this series. And I'm not just saying that because I'm running out of song titles from the OST that would work. I guess after this I have three options now: A 'Near Dark' fic I've been thinking about, a final part to the first lost boys series set in present day, wherein Mike and Sam have their own versions of mid-live crises, and perhaps a new LB story set in the middle of the film and going off in a different direction. Obviously still with a David/Mike slant. Maybe. Dunno. Might be co-writing with the wonderfully awesome Kagemirai. The point is I've got a million possibilities brewing right now. Anyway, enough of this boring author's note, and onto the story...

* * *

Lucy sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed and leaning forward to stare at the luggage set in front of her closet, unzipped and half-packed. She needed to protect Sam. If she didn't take him out of this awful place, it was only a matter of time before something _much_ worse happened to him. Of that she was definitely certain. But...

She pressed a hand to her mouth and sobbed into it, closing her eyes. It seemed like no matter what she did, she'd be saving one of her sons at the cost of the other. Why wasn't there a way she could protect them both? Lock them up in a little box, keep the key around her neck, and make sure nobody ever harmed either of them ever again? And who could she honestly blame, but herself?

A thousand images flooded her mind. Images of what could happen to Sam...and what could happen to Michael...and what truly scared her the most. If he was wrong, and if staying in Santa Carla didn't help him hold on to his memories, retain whatever it was inside him that still remembered he was _her son_...would there come a day when he turned on them, killing Sam and destroying whatever was still left of the real Michael?

* * *

As a kid, you learn to use silverware and napkins when you're eating. If you're smart, or have at least half a brain cell, mastering the art of table manners comes pretty easy. But you can't feed on blood with a fork, and forget about using a bib. Might as well wrap yourself in a sheet, for all the good it would do. Basically, Michael was a mess as he lounged on the gritty motel bed, wiping his chin and neck down with a well-worn comforter while he perched at the edge of the bed flipping through channels. The remains of his meal, a tangle of limbs on the mildew speckled carpet.

The place was a dive. Santa Carla would be better off without it, once the boys were done tonight and ready to torch. But they didn't make a habit of just floating around the city burning shit to the ground, from what he could tell. He'd gotten the distinct impression this was a special occasion, a cathartic release after a week of hell. Particularly for him and Star. Especially him, he thought as he flipped the shitty TV off and tossed the remote behind him. Figures the one time he had access to a bit of cable, there was nothing on.

He stood up from the mattress and stretched his arms behind his back, yawning. Michael wasn't sure whether he should trust him or not, but David had actually given him some privacy while he ate for once. Some privacy in general. It was bizarre. And ever since they'd taken Sam home, the bastard had been pretty damned quiet. No...Michael didn't trust any of it. He just knew David was planning _something_. Some new kind of torment or irritating attack to catch him unaware so he could either be humiliated or boned against his conscious will. He hated the sense of paranoia brewing in the back of his mind, and even more...he hated the idea that it would be there for the rest of his god damned life.

'Pack'. Yeah. Sure. And they'd done _so_ many things to make him feel like he was one of them. He mentally sneered. What a load of bullshit. He felt like the little kid on the playground bullied by his older brothers because he couldn't figure out the password to get into the clubhouse. Only with a lot more blood-drinking and freaky sex. Speaking of which, he just _knew_ any night now David would try to pull something again on him, trick him...and his own stupid body didn't think that was such a bad idea.

Michael turned his head at the sound of footsteps outside of 'his' door, followed by the shaking of the door handle. The scent of cigarettes and old blood were so strong, they might as well have been pressed right up against each other, his nose buried in the hollow of David's collarbone. He really wanted to hate that smell. But the feeling just wasn't there.

The door drifted open, and he quickly crossed the threshold, shutting it behind him and glancing over at Michael's mess, clicking his tongue against his teeth with a sarcastic hum of disappointment, "that's no way to treat a lady, Michael."

He rolled his eyes and took a step back, eyeing David from head to toe, "are we leaving?" He glanced towards the window. They had a few hours before sunrise. Plenty of time left. Which could only mean he was in for some kind of stupid speech.

David narrowed his eyebrows, flopping down onto the bed and leaning back on his elbows, "relax. Not gonna bite..." he paused, "unless you-?"

"...No," Michael replied dryly.

"Fair enough," David shrugged, "offer's always on the table. I meant what I said...we're not doing anything until you beg for it." Early evening half-finished handies aside, of course.

Michael snorted, "...good luck with that. What's this about, huh?"

David shifted until he was lying on his side, head propped up on his hand as the mattress protested beneath him, "I just wanna talk. Having fun tonight?"

He shrugged, "mom wants to leave Santa Carla. She's only staying because I'm pretty much going nuts. Nothing good on TV. I'm stuck in a motel room with one of the biggest dicks on the planet...but other than that, I'm doing alright."

"Biggest dicks? I'm flattered."

"Fuck off, David." This was quickly becoming his nightly mantra.

The blonde leaned over to pat the empty side of the bed, only moderately blood-stained from Michael's earlier meal, "come here."

"I'd rather not," Michael shrugged as he trailed towards the mattress and flopped down on the edge beside David. Their clothes were still on, so he was fairly certain he'd be safe. Fairly. If not, there was a letter opener on the bedside stand. "What's with you? No threats? No growling or groping? Someone rip your balls off?" Not that he was complaining. He was just...confused. And a part of him wondered if this was some new stupid plot to embarrass or attack him.

"I swear, I just want to talk."

"Okay, talk."

"...and I have a proposal-"

"Here we _fucking go_!" Michael stood up from the bed with a frustrated huff, "I don't want to hear it! No more proposals, David! You trick me every god damn time!"

David sat up, holding up his hands, "just hear me out. No bargaining chips. Nothing to do with your little mommy or Sammie. I promise."

Michael eyed him suspiciously, "what is it, then?"

The blonde smirked, his face smoothing into a more innocent and human guise, as if that would earn him any bonus points, "I just want to make it clear first that I haven't been lying to you. Selective information technically isn't lying," David explained, holding up an index finger to illustrate his point.

What... _the...fuck..._ was he talking about?

Sighing, Michael rubbed at the bridge of his nose with both hands, "yeah? And?"

"I'm going to tell you something. Afterwards, you'll let it go, we'll move on, and all you'll have to worry about is just how incredible our next fuck is going to be. Deal?"

"...I won't worry about it at all. I promise. So just say whatever it is you're going to say," Michael lowered his hands and wondered just exactly how many years it took for David's ego to get so big it could power the world's largest fucking dirigible.

David grinned smugly, _supremely_ satisfied with himself, "we can read each other's minds, and we've been listening in on you like a soap opera."

* * *

 **' _CRASH!_ ' "YOU SON OF A BITCH!"**

Star sat up on the bed, hastily buttoning up her shirt, eyes wide with shock, "what was that!?"

Paul snickered as he leaned forward to pull her back into his arms, pressing his anxious arousal against the small of her back, "I think Davey just dug a hole."

"What?" She looked back at him over her shoulder, confused, and also a little agitated about the fact that he never seemed to think with the head on his shoulders. If they went at it _again,_ she'd have to ride home naked. Frankly, she wasn't too keen on the idea of being a modern-day Lady Godiva. Certainly not on the back of a motorcycle either, considering how much she chafed just thinking about it.

"Don't worry about it," Paul nipped at her neck, "just means Dwayne won the bet."


	2. Chapter 2: The Poster

Author's notes: Thanks for the quick breakdown on 80s computers, Falcon. :D

* * *

 _2 Weeks later..._

Everything was...mostly back to the same old routine. Sam had even managed to find a weekend lawn care job not too far from home. Cutting the Frog brothers out of his life had given him _a lot_ of spare time in-between school and home life. After the mess they'd helped get him into, he'd decided it best to just...take a break from them for awhile, if not forever. Of course, it was going to be a lot harder to add to his comic collection, but he had a sizable inventory already, with less and less space to hold it. At any rate, they could always make a shopping trip in Luna Bay at some point when mom was off from work if he really needed to.

Lucy hadn't told him about her conversation with Michael, so he didn't have any idea how close they'd been to moving again. Until she made a decision, Sam was happily left in the dark. All he had to worry about now was his grades, avoiding Edgar and Alan, and maybe finding a girlfriend so he'd get less snide remarks in the hallways about his stylish fashion choices. It wasn't his fault if beach bumpkins weren't born with his level of incredible taste and flare.

When the final bell rang, signalling the sacred hour in which all students could flee from their classes en masse to escape the darkened corridors of Santa Carla High, Sam was only too happy to shoulder his backpack and practically run away. Unfortunately, today he had to make a stop at his locker to grab a few textbooks for his homework. Normally it wasn't a big deal. However...Sam hardly got ten feet from his locker before he noticed two things: several students filtering by him snickering and pointing at said locker, and a large paper plastering the front of it.

He frowned. The worst thing Sam had ever had to deal with at this school was maybe a snide remark or two. Once in awhile, someone might trip him in the cafeteria. And sure...it wasn't unheard of for a phantom arm to come up behind him on his way to the bathroom to refresh his knowledge on the peculiar taste of his own stomach by yanking his the back of his underwear halfway to the moon...but not once had anyone ever done _anything_ to his locker. Especially not after he'd acquired his reputation as a manic bug-eater, liable to blow up on his teachers at any moment if they dared to demand his attention in class. Honestly, he'd been given a pretty wide berth the last couple of weeks...so...this was definitely weird.

Drawing up to his locket, Sam scanned the contents of the paper, his slight frown turning into a muppet-like grimace in it's ferocity. He should have known the Frogs were planning something stupid, and what better way to advertise their new business plan to him when he'd stopped answering the phone and avoided the boardwalk than by pasting it up in the one place they knew he'd be?

The border of the picture had sharpie drawings of poorly-drawn wolves and what could either be rolls of swiss cheese or full moons, followed by a few cut-out pictures of Lon Chaney Jr and Michael J. Fox. The text in the very center in blockish-writing read as follows:

' ** _The Boardwalk is dangerous!_ Bloodsuckers are everywhere, _and there's nothing we can do about it!_**

 **But we can take care of your werewolves for you!**

 **Grandpa has fleas? Sister howling at the moon? Creepy neighbor move in right when all the neighborhood cats start disappearing?**

 **Edgar Frog, Alan Frog, and The honorary Sam 'Frog' Emerson are here to take care of you!**

 **For a low weekly fee of...'**

Sam groaned, tearing the paper off of his locker and bawling it up in his fists, then reaching back to scrape at sticky glue-covered corners on the metal framing. Trust Ed and Alan to come up with another load of bullshit for him to deal with at school. Here he thought he was finally getting a break, too. He angrily flipped through his combination and grabbed his books, slamming the door shut and turning to leave...when he caught sight of a wary Edgar and Alan peeking at him from around the corner where the hallway split into two sections.

"ED! ALAN!" Sam shouted, stomping towards them.

Alan scrambled back from Edgar, though he maintained his traditional scowl, while Ed straightened himself up and stubbornly faced Sam with his arms crossed.

"What do you think of the business plan?" Ed growled, as if he hadn't made it painfully obvious how little he wanted to do with either of them.

"What the hell, guys?!" Sam threw the ball of crumpled paper to the ground at the very moment a teacher just so happened to be walking by.

"Pick that up, young man!" She snapped, and he sheepishly knelt down to scoop it back into his hands, scowling back up at Edgar and Alan.

"Listen, Sam, we're monster bashers. We made a blood pact. You can't just cut us out of-"

"Blood pact?!" Sam practically yelped, standing back up and shoving the remains of the poster into Edgar Frog's chest, "you're nuts! I didn't make a blood pact with you!"

"Well, no," Edgar replied, scratching at the side of his cheek, "but...we might as well have. Listen, Sam, you're the only one besides us who knows _just how_ dangerous Santa Carla is. If we want to keep this city safe..." he grunted, adding under his breath, "and make a couple of bucks..."

Sam shook his head furiously, "whatever it is you've got to sell me, I'm not buying it. Take my name off that stupid poster."

"It's too late," Alan spoke up behind his brother, "we've already posted them all over the school."

The youngest Emerson almost went into an apoplectic fit, " _then take them all down!_ "

"Are you crazy?!" Edgar exclaimed, "do you know how much all that paper cost? Do you know how much my hand is cramping from making them?!"

On the verge of sucker-punching Edgar right in the face, Sam marched right by him and took a deep breath, "stay away from me! Both of you! I've already got a job right now, and I don't need to deal with your new bullshit getting me into another mess!"

Edgar and Alan watched him depart, exchanging a confused look, as if they couldn't even begin to comprehend why he was so mad at them.

"He'll come around. We're his best friends, after all," Alan insisted.

"Yeah. Especially when we tell him it's just a scam," Edgar agreed. What safer way to fight monsters than to just make them up, after all? They had it all planned out. They'd stage a few 'attacks' in people's backyards, mysteriously slip a few comics with their number written on the back into their targets' lockers, and the money would start flowing. What's more...there was no chance this could backfire. But it wouldn't hurt to have Sam in on it, too. He could get all kinds of leftovers from his grandpa's workshop to help their plan work...

* * *

Michael sighed, allowing his muscles and body to slowly wake before he properly roused himself for the evening. Two weeks since his fight with David at the motel. Two weeks of brooding and grumbling every time he got near the blonde. And two more weeks of little memories slowly fading to black. He hadn't gone back to visit mom in a few days, and wasn't too sure whether he'd be ready to see her again right now or not. He _still_ cared about his old family. He _still_ wanted to keep them safe and protected at all costs. But...it was getting a lot harder to relate to them. Making the extra trip to grandpa's house was kind of turning into a chore, though he was reluctant to admit it.

Unlatching his feet from his perch, he took flight towards the lobby. Star was still rousing herself, so she didn't follow. Passing through the curtain, he saw Paul lounging on the fountain with a magazine in his grasp, while the others sat near the couch on the ground playing cards. They looked pretty focused, but he knew it was just an act. There was hardly any money in the pot, and David hadn't quite reached his state of supreme self-satisfaction with his winnings. They were waiting to see how Michael was going to act tonight. So far, he'd been giving them all the silent treatment, save for Star. Not that he was terribly happy with her again, either. There wasn't really a good chance he'd ever let the incident with Paul go. Or the lying.

He settled onto the couch with a sigh and leaned back into the worn cushions. Old furniture...beautiful, timeless, and uncomfortable as fuck. It was like the purpose of the design was to remind any and all people who sat on it that relaxing should only be a temporary state of being. They really needed to get a better couch.

Michael's eyes trailed towards David as the blonde filtered through his hand, and he wondered whether or not he should stay angry. They'd let up on him quite a lot since the fight at the motel. Hell, now that Paul was exclusively boning Star, he'd almost been downright friendly.

He honestly wasn't too sure what he disliked more, now. That first week of taunting and prodding, alongside a strip show where the climax ended with David's cock in his face...or the wide berth everyone had been giving him as if he were about to blow at any second. It was like they were waiting for him to make some kind of decision. And...it was driving him crazy. Hell, even David hadn't done anything besides sleep with him...though that still didn't change the fact he was waking up feeling like there'd been more to it than _just_ sleeping every night. The taste of blood on his tongue adding to his suspicions.

So...he closed his eyes, and he concentrated. No one had really taught him how to do this yet, but even if it was one-sided, they'd surely hear him. " _Okay, David. I'm done. But don't you ever fucking pull that kind of shit on me again_."

Thorne padded into the lobby, yawning and shaking his head while he licked the remains of his meal off of his blood-painted chin. After the first few nights, the bullet wound had healed. After the first week, he was back to normal. He walked over to the couch and leaped up onto it, nestling down on the side opposite Michael.

"That's nice, Michael," David replied conversationally as he remained focused on his hand, "two." He put down two cards and drew two more.

The brunette frowned, "that's it?"

"What else do you want?"

"An apology, maybe?" Michael replied with an exhausted sigh. He should have known the word 'sorry' was never going to come into play. Didn't even know why he'd expected it.

The boys continued their silent poker game, and David didn't even glance back at Michael _once_ to acknowledge him. By the time the game was over, David was counting his winnings and Star had drifted into the lobby to lounge on the bed, which had become her personal little moth-canopied haven. Even if the canopy was no more than ghostly fingers of shredded white now.

David pocketed the cash, patting the spot happily when Marko huffed and scrambled to his feet and Dwayne just rolled his eyes as he snatched up a dog-eared book at his side to continue reading.

"I've got something better than an apology," David grinned, stepping over to the couch and leaning on the side to give Michael a good (long) look at his pearly whites. "How about we give you kids some lessons tonight, huh?"

Star glanced over at them groggily, still a little tired, no thanks to a scuffle with Paul the previous night, "lessons?" She voiced Michael's thought.

Paul cackled from his corner of the lobby, sitting up at the fountain and flipping through the magazine he held, "hey, Star...am I in a ' _marrying mood_ '?" They all glanced over at him as he snorted and threw the copy of Cosmo behind him. "The ball flicking tips were _way_ better."

"...Ball flicking?" Star wrinkled her nose.

Paul paled considerably, " _yeah_. Don't do that."

Michael looked between them and then back up at David. He was still a little irritated. But the idea of learning something new tonight was a little intriguing, he reluctantly admitted to himself. More and more, he was beginning to enjoy certain perks about being a vampire. Couldn't even see why he'd fought it so hard anymore, memory loss and the endless dickish-ness of David aside.


	3. Chapter 3: Dwayne Likes Ice Cream

Author's notes: You know what? I'm not a huge fan of ice cream. I mean yeah, I like it...but I never understood why people get 2 or 3 scoops. It's just a bit too rich for me, personally.

* * *

" _Eternal life. Incredible strength. Flight. Telepathy. We own the city...so, please Dwayne, tell me...why is it that every time you win some kind of bet, you always pick stupid things like ice cream?_ " Marko shook his head in disbelief as he forked over the cash for a double scoop of rum raisin and passed the cone over to Dwayne, who silently took it as he glanced back over the crowd. Everyone was in pairs tonight. It looked like they were stuck with each other for the hunt, while David and Paul played around.

" _I like ice cream._ " Dwayne replied simply. He won their bets so frequently, the fun of playing them up for a bit of torment had long run out unless he was in a bad mood. Plus, this pissed Marko and Paul off anyway, so it didn't really make too much of a difference.

" _You could...you could have us eat rats for a week, or...or wear fiberglass jock straps! Hell, you could even make Pauley shave half of his head and paint it green...you could do anything...and you're just wasting it!_ " Marko was really getting warmed up now, mentally cataloging his list of future possibilities for bet winnings, provided he got a few. The last time he'd won, David wouldn't admit it. He was still pretty pissed off about that, actually...

 _"I. Like. Ice. Cream."_ Dwayne walked ahead of Marko, ruffling his hair in passing while the shorter vampire batted his hand away and smoothed his curls back. He hated when they did that.

" _So, whaddya want tonight? Chinese? Mexican? I think I heard some Aussies back by the Ferris wheel..._ " Marko skipped behind Dwayne, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets and making a kissy face at a girl selling snow cones. She pointedly avoided eye contact, squirting some strawberry syrup over a cup of chipped ice and flinching at the way he licked his lips while he watched. Yeah, she knew what he was.

" _I'm happy with anything but Sushi,_ " Dwayne replied, glancing over at the girl in question and then back to his libidinous companion. "...Marko. No locals."

"Hey, man, I know. 'Look, don't touch'..." Marko replied, though they both knew very well how much he hated that rule. But if they didn't stick to it, they risked a pretty nasty domino effect. You kill one, another comes running for revenge, then another after that one, then another after _that_ one. Hell, it was how Dwayne and Paul had ended up joining the pack. They just didn't need the extra headache, and especially not now. Things were already changing way too much, and it would be a good few years before they had a comfortable routine again. Change. Nothing sucked more for a vampire than change. In the figurative sense, at least. Obviously there were other things that 'sucked' more.

The snow cone girl let out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when Dwayne and Marko disappeared into a throng of people. Nobody had seen the Lost Boys in the last couple of years. They'd almost begun to get comfortable with it. Should've known _that_ wouldn't last. But on the bright side, whatever had been making the boardwalk smell so bad seemed to have dissipated. So you win some, you lose some. Still...those guys were scary. She wondered if the stories were true, as she passed out yet another snow cone. Probably best not to think about it too much.

Funny thing was, though, she didn't remember there being so many of them back when she was in middle school. But she could distinctly recall seeing an extra bike sitting alongside theirs when she'd come in for her evening shift. Hopefully they weren't multiplying.

"Miss, my change?"

"Oh, right...Sorry." The girl shook her head, pulling herself out of her thoughts.

* * *

"Do it."

"I did!"

"No you didn't."

"...I'm trying, okay? It's not that fucking easy!" Michael snapped, ignoring the funny looks sent in their direction as they walked around the cycling carousel. Some of them looked indignant, angry, until they noticed David behind him and the earring dangling from Michael's ear. Then they just sort of...quickly found reasons to end their ride early.

David threw an arm around Michael's shoulder as they drew to a halt, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned in to whisper in his mate's ear, "the sooner you figure it out, the sooner you'll stop sticking out so much. Locals are used to us giving them the silent treatment," he nodded his head towards a bickering couple on the carousel bench ahead of them.

"Just look and listen. If it makes it any easier, pretend there's a volume button in your head."

"...How the hell did you learn how to do this shit before electronics were invented?" Michael replied snippily. They'd been at this for an hour now, and so far nothing...all he'd managed to do was give several small children intensely focused looks before their parents caught sight of him and quickly drug them away. He was definitely still human enough to be embarrassed how awkward _that_ had looked. Having David tailing him everywhere didn't help much. Bastard thought it was hilarious.

David shrugged, "I wasn't _this_ slow to pick it up." He pulled his arm away from Michael's shoulder before the brunette could react and tell him where he could shove his stupid volume button.

Michael took a deep breath and stepped away from the blonde in favor of climbing on top of a bobbing pink rabbit, leaning forward to stare at the couple on the bench. He focused on the girl, and imagined the volume button...then amped it up to max. He nearly fell off of the rabbit with a yelp, blocking his ears to try and defend himself from the sudden assault of a thousand minds chattering at once.

David crossed around to the front of him and mouthed a few words Michael couldn't hear. He couldn't hear anything above the din of an old man bemoaning how awful music was these days, or a little girl learning the pain of her first heartbreak over a lost balloon, a feisty hot dog salesman imagining his next offensive pick-up line to sling out at a pretty customer, a woman making the sudden realization her husband wasn't just working late...so on an so forth. It was painful. It was dizzying. He wanted to throw up...and he could just imagine how that would look, a guy sitting on a pink rabbit while he spewed blood all over the carousel...

"Michael."

The brunette closed his eyes, unable to decipher anything David was saying beyond just his name, when David reached forward to nudge his shoulder and get his attention. He reluctantly opened his eyes again, and watched David make a few pantomimed gestures. He was either telling Michael about nipple twisting...or...oh...

He focused on turning the volume button down. And suddenly, it was gone. Now, all he could hear beside his own immensely relieved mind was the girl on the bench, as she debated whether or not she'd tell her boyfriend about a bun in the oven, or toss it out with tomorrow's stale bread. And that wasn't a euphemism. She actually forgot she'd left something baking at home, and her boyfriend really liked pastries...

" _Good boy_ ," David's whisper brushed across Michael's mind, condescending and somehow soothing at the same time. After all the noise, a somber tone was much more welcome.

 _"I'm not a dog, dick-head,"_ Michael replied, sliding off of the pink rabbit and nearly getting his foot caught in the process. David caught him before he fell, patting the brunette on the back. If they weren't in public right now, somehow Michael just knew he'd try and pull something. But as it was, he only helped him steady himself on his feet, and very gently brushed fingers across the back of Michael's neck on pretense of brushing away a bit of dirt.

 _"I don't fuck animals, Michael. I'm well aware you're not a dog."_

 _"You always have to sling that shit right in my face, don't you?"_

David grinned, walking towards the edge of the carousel and hopping off. He glanced back at Michael, who quickly followed.

 _"You wanna visit your mommy after dinner?"_ He inquired almost sweetly. Michael wondered if he knew how much he'd wanted to avoid that tonight. Probably did...snoopy, mind-reading mother fucker.

 _"I'm hurt. Really."_

" _SO now you're going to have a running commentary on all my thoughts, too?!_ "

 _"Only when you're pining for me, sweetheart,"_ David's drawling voice was laced with sarcasm in Michael's mind. And if he wasn't so excited about finally learning this new trick, he might have tried to drum up a bit of anger. He was hungry, too. Oh! Maybe he could use it to get a meal? A world of possibilities laid themselves out in front of them in Michael's mind, and David just silently watched him. Only a few weeks ago, his mate would have balked at the idea of going on a hunt with them. He was almost proud of his creation. He'd be a lot more satisfied, though, when Michael got excited over other things David had given him...and fully intended to give a lot more of.

Patience was not one of David's virtues. But he was finding that where Michael was concerned, and even Star, there were a lot of things he was going to have to learn. Not that he'd ever admit it, though.


	4. Chapter 4: Dead Ringer

Author's notes: The Werewolf of Washington. I've tried watching that one at least 3 times. So far, with little success. And I love Jack Whittier. But as far as bad werewolf comedies go, I'd rather watch 'My Mom is a Werewolf'...then again, I think I just prefer werewolves in the strictly horror format. Anyway, I think this chapter probably more than any of the others so far really goes a long way to illustrate how much Michael has changed. Fairly happy with the outcome.

* * *

Lucy placed her book down on the small table beside her and straightened up on her wicker chair as the trees about the property began to rustle with the shifting of the winds. The calling card of her oldest son and...his friends. She would never get used to it. Never get used to any of this. And the knowledge in the back of her mind she tried to tamp down every night that Michael and the others actively killed people...god, it was making each progressive night staying here even more difficult. But she still loved him. Despite the hidden cruelty creeping into his eyes with every encounter, or the way he'd hesitate sometimes if she brought up something he couldn't quite recall...letting him go just wasn't an option.

"Mom?" Michael called out, hopping up the steps of the porch, something small sparkling in his hand as he repeatedly tossed it into the air before catching it again.

"What's that?" She asked curiously, adjusting her blanket over her legs to protect herself from the chill evening air.

"This?" He stopped tossing it and examined the object nestled in his palm. He looked as if he was trying to make a tough choice, when he looked back up at her and just shook his head before quickly pocketing it. "Just a ring. Don't think you'd want it, though," he shrugged. The way he said it...Lucy wasn't too sure he wasn't right. She tried to force her eyes away from the pocket he'd hidden what she could only imagine must be a gruesome token...

"Michael, sweety..." Lucy licked her lips, hesitating. "I can't...I can't make this work if you keep doing things that remind me..."

He nodded, scratching the back of his head and striding closer to her. Lucy did her best not to flinch at his approach, but the fear in her eyes was enough to give him pause.

"If you want me to leave, just tell me," he said quietly, looking back over his shoulder. There was no mistaking the sight defensiveness in his tone. And the hurt.

"Now you know that's not fair," Lucy shook her head, "I'm doing my best here, Michael. I still love you, but I don't think it's fair of you to just expect me not to be a little scared. If you were in my place, I think you'd feel the same way. So don't you ever say that to me again, young man, do you understand?"

He broke into a slow smile, "yeah. If it makes any difference though, I just found this in the yard. It's missing a stone," he lied. While she didn't believe him even for a second, she did appreciate the sentiment, so she let the matter rest. For as long as there was still a spark of her son in him, Lucy would try to push her fears aside as best she could. And if dad wasn't worried about him yet, that was probably a good sign. He seemed to know an awful lot about these things.

"Mike!" Sam called from the door, shoving it open, "you _asshole-_ "

"Sam!" Lucy scolded, straightening up in her chair. He looked back at her with an apologetic smile. He hadn't known she was out here. Michael feigned a look of disappointment, shaking his head at his younger brother before pulling him into a headlock and giving him a quick noogie. Sam fruitlessly struggled in his grasp while Lucy folded up her blanket and set it aside.

"I think I'm going to go make some tea," she decided, heading into the house to leave her two sons outside. Nanook was just inside, fairly relaxed as he reclined by the screen door. Lucy knelt down to scratch him behind the ear before giving Michael one last look and disappearing into the kitchen. She didn't really want any tea. After this year, she honestly doubted she'd ever drink tea again. But since Sam had come home, they hadn't been alone together even once. She'd make sure they had that time alone, just in case. Who knew whether Michael would come home tomorrow? Or any other night after that?

* * *

"Get off of me, death breath!" Sam demanded, trying to pray Michael's arm from around his neck. "I mean it, Mike!" He added quickly when his older brother's knuckles ground so sharply into his scalp that he cried out and stomped on his foot.

Michael pulled back with a grunt, "jeeze, Sammy. Lighten up."

"That really hurt, Mike!" Sam snapped at him, rubbing his tender scalp. "If I wake up with a bald patch tomorrow, it's gonna be your fault!"

"You scuffed my new shoe," Michael replied grumpily, rubbing at a mark on the tip of his boot, "and you're lucky I didn't do something worse. Now that you're all better, what the fuck were you doing leading those idiots back to our cave?" Michael crossed his arms and settled himself against the porch railing.

Sam blanched, "oh...man...y'know I gotta get up early for school tomorrow-"

"It's Friday, dork." Michael leaned forward, giving Sam a creepy glare.

"Mike, stop...you're freaking me out..." Sam's eyes widened and he backed against the wall.

"What? I'm just looking at you," Michael shrugged and leaned back again with a sneaky grin.

"Well...don't look at me, then."

"Answer my question, and I'll back off. What the hell were you thinking, Sammy?"

"I thought you guys would be there, okay? Not my fault you were off doing some gay shit sucking ritual," Sam replied defensively. And what was he honestly supposed to do when it turned out they weren't there? Ask Shane to just nicely leave everything alone and come back another day for a rain check? He was going nuts, for crying out loud! It was the only thing he could think of doing.

"Gay. Shit sucking. Ritual?" Michael quirked an eyebrow, "I'd really hate to see what you'd be like if you did get turned, if that's what you envision me doing every night, you little pervert." He paused, then wrinkled his nose as he really let the concept sink in, "ugh...Sam...I'm your brother!"

Sam scowled, walking over to Lucy's wicker chair and flopping down into it, "they're...they're not planning to kill me, are they?"

Michael feigned an expression of deep thought, "maybe...I'll have to ask them."

"WHAT?!"

"Chill out, weasel, nobody's gonna kill you." He paused. "But...I can't promise you won't have some freaky dreams," and Michael didn't put it past David or the others to mess with Sam's head a bit if they thought he didn't know about it. There was only so much he could do to protect his little brother, but a demented nightmare here or there wasn't nearly as bad as having his ass handed to him.

"Freaky dreams?" Sam drew his knees up to his chest, eyes bugging out, "like...what...you mean they can get in my head?!"

"More or less." Michael looked down at his feet swinging against the railing, heels beating a steady rhythm on the wood. Funny. He probably should have realized they could read his mind when David slipped into his dreams...he'd just been too busy running, then coping with way too much shit to really think about it.

"What's it like? Being...dead?" Sam asked quietly, plucking at a piece of wood poking out of the arm on the wicker chair.

Michael rolled his eyes. This was one of the reasons he was starting to get reluctant to make these visits. Mom and Sam were bound to throw out questions to ruin his good mood after a hunt. He didn't _want_ to think about how much things had changed, didn't _want_ to think about the fact that there was basically a world separating them now. A world that frankly, he'd still rather have avoided being a part of.

"Mike?"

"Yeah, I heard you. I'm just trying to figure out how to describe it. It's kinda like being cold, but comfortable? But whenever I 'feed'..."

Sam flinched and Michael scowled, "I don't know what other word you want me to use, Sammy. It's better than saying 'kill', isn't it?"

"You're being a dick tonight, Mike. I can't just pretend hearing about it doesn't give me the creeps, okay?"

"Then don't ask."

"...Fair enough. Alright, so...whenever you...'feed'?" Sam held up his hands and made air quotes as he said it.

"Okay, so whenever I 'feed', it's like I'm less cold for awhile. And it tastes great. Sometimes, it's even better than sex."

"Right. Nice to see you. Glad we had this chat," Sam hopped out of his chair, shivering in disgust. He didn't want to think about his brother boinking, and especially not if blood was thrown into the mix. There were certain lines you just didn't cross.

"Seriously? I didn't say 'better while having sex', dork. I said better 'than'," Michael sighed. "Like I said, don't ask me if you don't want an answer."

Sam yanked open the screen door, glancing back over his shoulder, "um...Mike..."

"What?" Michael slipped off of the railing, crossing his arms.

"You wanna come inside?"

"...Is that an invitation?"

"As long as you don't tell gramps, yeah...I just want you to know what you look like when you get those funny looks, y'know? And when Max got an invite, nothing worked on him. Saw his reflection and everything...could work for you too..."

"...Yeah, okay," Michael replied. He had to admit, now they both had him dying to know what the big deal was. Plus...he kind of wanted to see what he looked like in the mirror now, vamped out. Would he even recognize himself? Oh well. Whatever the outcome, he might as well find out now. Before he went inside, he peered out into the darkness beyond the porch where a trail of smoke ascended to the air.

" _Gimme about an hour. And don't even think about giving Sammie any nightmares._ "

" _...Who, me? Never._ " David's innocent response. Fucker probably already had a nasty one in mind, now that they'd given him the idea...shit. Should've just kept his mouth shut.

* * *

Alan feverishly scribbled down ideas in his notepad whilst simultaneously gnawing on a stick of jerky as the screaming man on the screen in front of him contorted and stretched on the ground, muscles rolling and bones cracking, tufts of fur beginning to line his sweaty skin...

"This is going to be way easier than hunting bloodsuckers," Edgar grunted, flipping through the bag of vhs tapes they'd raided from the rental store. Nothing but werewolves tonight. Not because they really needed to know how to protect themselves from the moon-cursed monsters, but because they wanted this new business to look as authentic as possible. That meant copious research on their parts.

"Yeah," Alan agreed through a mouthful of jerky, ripping a bite off and shoving the stick back in his mouth. "Maybe tomorrow we can follow Clark Kent around to that new weekend job he was talking about. Set it up a bit...convince him how awesome this new plan is gonna be..."

"Alan, you're a genius!" Edgar agreed excitedly, pulling out a copy of 'The Werewolf of Washington' and tossing it to the carpet for their next viewing. Meanwhile, their mother flitted through the living room singing a flighty tune, hardly aware they were even there. And their father trailed after her, pants around his ankles. Edgar and Alan made a concentrated effort to ignore them in favor of the thrashing werewolf on their television screen. The really sad thing about it all, was the fact that their old man didn't even know his pants were down...

"So I think we're gonna have to use a lot of grease paint tomorrow, just to be sure he doesn't see us following him," Edgar decided.

"How would that work?" Alan finished his jerky stick and reached for a bag of Fritos and a tin of bean dip beside him. Junk food dinners were a regular routine in the Frog house. He was busy licking the lid of the bean dip when Edgar launched into some kind of explanation about psychology and Vietnam. He missed most of it. Not that it made much of a difference, when Ed was on a tangent.

"And then of course there's the intimidation aspect to it, too...you never see what you don't want to-" Edgar yattered on.

"Ed, you been eating dad's brownies again?"


	5. Chapter 5: Mirror Mirror

Author's notes: Speaking as someone who grew up dealing with an older brother in the house, I can only say this...teenage boys are _disgusting_. Seriously.

* * *

Sam watched his brother duck his head to the side as he entered the house, sniffing at the air as if he were trying to figure out what mom was cooking. The only thing was, they'd had pizza delivered earlier...and it was long gone. So what was he sniffing at?

"Grandpa left for the night, huh?" Michael asked casually, straightening up and striding past Sam towards the stairs.

"Uh...yeah? Didn't you notice his junk heap was missing out front?"

Michael paused at the bottom step and slowly looked back over his shoulder at Sam, "that's why I asked." He turned back and dashed up the steps towards the bathroom. Sam stood at the bottom staring up after him.

"Thought you were trying to sniff him out or something," Sam called up after him with a nervous laugh.

"That too," Michael replied, disappearing around the corner and leaving his little brother more than a little weirded out. He wasn't sure how many other quirks Mike had up his sleeve. Then he couldn't help but wonder whether or not all of the shit suckers could smell _themselves_ , if they could smell people within a hundred foot radius too? Did they like that 'Eau de Rotting Corpse' fragrance their breath reeked of? Or maybe it wasn't normal scents they could pick up, but just the smell of fresh blood? He puckered his lips and shook his head. Now that the short-lived 'vampire hunting' chapter of his life was officially closed, no thanks to his brush with fishy fury...he wasn't too sure he should be digging for answers to all of these questions popping into his mind. Even if the curiosity was killing him...

Michael's head popped up around the corner at the top of the stairs again to flash his little brother a toothy grin, "I bet your bottom dresser drawer smells way worse than _me_ , dork!" He disappeared once more just as Sam started to shout back up at him.

"YOU DICK-FACED APE, YOU CAN _READ MY MIND_ TOO?! "

"SAMUEL EMERSON, THIS IS YOUR SECOND WARNING! I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE SOAP ON THAT MOUTH IF I HAVE TO!" Lucy yelled from the kitchen. And it was as if the kettle was in agreement with her, because that just so happened to be the exact moment it whistled indignantly to be removed from the burner.

Sam blushed furiously. He really hoped mom didn't know about that dresser drawer too...

* * *

Star perched on the arm of the couch, staring at Marko intently while he picked at his teeth and crawled around on the ceiling dusting at cobwebs with a wet rag. He was going to be bringing home a few new bird friends soon, and wanted to unroll the red carpet for them. Maybe if the roosting spots at the higher points in the cave were more amenable, they wouldn't be tempted to flutter down and get chomped by Thorne. Not that the Hellhound was stupid enough to do it with Marko around, but he probably knew David wouldn't let Marko wring the his either.

Her focus on the back of his bobbing curly head was so intense, he could practically feel her eyeballs up against his skull. He huffed, looking down at Star, "why are you staring at me?" He was getting annoyed, now. The way his bottom lip was twitching was a dead give-away.

Star shrugged, "I'm just trying to practice reading thoughts," she replied. Paul had taught her the basics with people, which wasn't nearly as difficult to pick up as it had been for Michael. But then again, she wasn't as strong as him either. So maybe it was a sort of trade-off. At any rate, none of them actually knew the progress with David and Mike yet, since they hadn't showed up back at the hotel. For all they knew, the pair could be doing just about anything right now. In fact, Marko and Paul had a running bet on it.

Paul laughed from his spot on the fountain as he kicked his legs up and bobbed to a tune in his head, "gonna take you a long time to crack our nuts," he paused. "Okay, wrong choice of words..." He couldn't help but snicker at himself. Now that he'd gotten a few good vibe cigarettes, and a bite or two off of a strung-out hooker, things were looking _way_ up tonight. Just about anything could send him into a fit of giggles right now.

She was more than a little disappointed to hear that as she climbed down from the arm of the couch to stretch and recline along the length of it. Here she thought learning her new trick would somehow make things a little more interesting around the cave. What good was knowing her meal's last thoughts, if that was pretty much all she could do?

" _Self defense. Conversation. There's a lot to it. Even if you do figure it out, I wouldn't recommend digging too deep. You might find out a few things about us you're too young to handle_ ," Dwayne advised in Star's mind, as he trailed in through the lobby entrance with Thorne at his side, having taken the Hellhound for a brisk walk around the bluff and back.

Star looked over at him curiously, "what's worse than killing people?"

" _Lots of things_ ," Paul joined in. " _He's right. Too young. Ask again in twenty years_." He dug into the fountain beside him and pulled out a heavily scratched Magic 8-ball, giving it a good shake, " _see?_ " He lowered the toy to the ground so Star could see the fuzzy blue-ish white impression of the phrase 'Ask Again Later'.

" _I thought I threw that stupid thing away,_ " Marko stared down at them, scowling at Paul. The jackass could easily spend hours at a time following them around demanding a thousand questions to appease the Magic 8-ball when he was on the higher end of Cloud 9. And right now, he was starting to inch up there.

Paul gave the Magic 8-ball a good shake, " _sorry, Marko. 'Don't count on it.' Ask me another one..._ "

" _I didn't ask you anything!_ " Marko threw the rag down at Paul, slapping him in the face with it.

" _How about this one...will Marko ever get laid?_ " Dwayne smirked, sitting down beside Paul on the fountain and reaching for the 8-ball.

" _Very doubtful,_ " Paul replied.

" _You didn't even shake it!_ " Marko snapped, descending from the ceiling.

" _Didn't need to,_ " Paul snickered.

The shorter vampire crossed his arms and shoved Star's legs off the couch to make some room for himself, " _I hate you both and your fucking toy._ "

* * *

Michael locked the bathroom door behind him, before nervously turning to face the mirror above the counter. He was a little worried Sam was wrong, that the only reason Max might have been able to cast a reflection wasn't necesarilly because he had an invitation, but because he was probably older than Tut's balls. It had only been a few weeks, but he'd seen enough reflective surfaces, walked by enough small mirrors rigged up on rides and cars, and even the bikes to have gotten pretty much used to the fact that he'd never see himself again. This was kind of a revelation for him. He didn't know how to feel, realizing how easy it was to adjust to little things like that. Granted, the whole murdering people to survive was a much bigger one...but there was a distinct feeling inside him that told Michael that particular fact didn't count too much. If he wasn't human anymore, then killing other humans wasn't murder. It was just part of his nature.

Nature. Now that was a crazy word, he mused, as he leaned over the counter and examined himself in the mirror. He didn't look _too_ different, he thought. Outwardly, anyway. Maybe just a tiny bit paler. And...yeah, okay, Sam and mom did make a pretty good point about his eyes. If he met a guy like him on the street a year ago, he probably would have just crossed to the other side to avoid him. He looked...mean. Weird that you could tell so much just by looking someone in the eyes. Even if they were your own.

He glanced down at the sink, and slowly reached to turn the faucet on. Okay, so if he could see his reflection, maybe with that invitation, he might be able to stand-"AH, FUCK!" Michael pulled back his right hand and gazed down at his blistered index and middle finger, before quickly shoving them into his mouth to soothe the burn. Okay, so invitations didn't cancel out the running water problem. Shit. He would've like a hot shower...but then everyone else would probably want to get themselves invited over, too, and he couldn't honestly see grandpa letting that one slide. So maybe it was just as well.

"Mike, you okay?" Sam knocked on the bathroom door, having heard the shout.

"Yeah, I'm...I'm fine," Michael replied, pulling his sore fingers from his mouth as the blisters receded and the reddened skin slowly began to heal. Definitely wasn't going to do _that_ again.

"You see what I meant though, about that funny look you've got now, though, right?" Sam called out.

Michael remained silent, continuing to examine his reflection again. Okay, so...yeah. He didn't look like he was a nice guy anymore. That much wasn't _too_ surprising. Because he wasn't. But at least now he knew what he was doing, and maybe he could practice cooling it down a little bit when he was around mom and Sam. Though he really didn't know how he'd manage _that_. Frankly, he'd gotten to the point where he could barely even relate to his old self anymore. He was actually starting to have fun with his new life. So maybe he wasn't quite as vicious as David and the others yet, and maybe he hadn't gotten to the point that he'd just play with his food like a bored house-cat...but he knew sooner rather than later, he probably would get there.

"Mike? You see what I meant, right?" Sam repeated himself, sounding a little worried. For all he knew, Michael could be having some kind of breakdown against the bathroom door now. He couldn't really picture his brother doing something like that, but he wasn't a mind-reader...unlike apparently Mike and all of his stupid fang-faced posse.

"I'm fine, Sammy," Michael called out, giving himself one last once-over in the mirror and brushing at a few curls with his fingers. He smirked, figuring...what the hell? Might as well find out what the other side looks like...

* * *

It had been several minutes since he last heard his brother talk or even make a sound on the other side of the bathroom door. Now Sam was getting worried. Maybe Mike had tripped and fallen on the plunger, getting himself accidentally staked. Death by bathroom implements...a shit-sucker impaled by a literal shit sucker. Maybe he'd had a freak out and found the bucket of holy water grandpa kept stashed under the bathroom cupboard, and decided to end it all on his own terms, now that he'd finally seen what he'd become? Maybe he had unholy levels of sudden diarrhea, and was destroying the pipes at that very instant?!

The more Sam thought about it, the more colorful his mental images of what could possibly be happening in the bathroom became, until finally...the door slowly creaked open. The light was off.

"Mike?" Sam squeaked, reaching to push the door open a little further, "...Mike?" He took one step inside...when suddenly, Michael burst out from the bathroom and slammed him against the wall with a death rattle hissing out from the very core of his being, fangs drawn and dripping with saliva...his eyes glowing with the unholy fire of undead fury.

"BOO!" Michael released his brother's shoulders, stepping back and falling against the wall himself in a fit of laughter.

Sam just stared ahead of him, mouth quivering, clutching at his chest while his heart beat a hectic rhythm he could barely keep up with. "YOU ASSHOLE!"

"SAM!" Lucy shouted from downstairs, her motherly wrath threatening to shake the very foundations of the house.

Michael wiped a tear from his eyes, "oh...man...that was awesome..." he slid to the ground, clutching at his stomach as his fangs receded. "Definitely going to do that one again later," and if he had to breathe, he'd probably be gasping for air.

Sam stormed into the bathroom and grabbed the nearest implement of destruction, a cup full of toothbrushes...proceeding to pelt his asshole of a bloodsucking brother with them one-by-one. " **THAT. WASN'T. FUNNY. YOU. STUPID**... _dick_..." He whispered the last word so Lucy wouldn't hear, which didn't have quite the effect he wanted, but there were plenty of other things on the bathroom counter to keep throwing, so Sam didn't much care.


	6. Chapter 6: Being Responsible Sucks

Author's notes: Naughty bits almost happen and drugs definitely happen in this chapter. But don't worry. Very little rock and roll. Yes, I realize pot doesn't cause you to slur, but I'd imagine heavy dosages of poison would, if you were capable of not dying while you took it. So there.

* * *

"So you think you can just smooth everything over and pretend you didn't do anything wrong inviting him inside by baking cookies?" Grandpa Emerson demanded as Lucy measured out a cup of flour and Sam passed a carton of eggs to Michael from the fridge.

"No, dad. I'm pretending Sam didn't do anything wrong. Actually, I'm not even pretending," Lucy replied, not even casting one look at the grumpy old man sitting in front of the kitchen table with his hands locked over a bottle of root beer in his lap. "He didn't do anything wrong. So are you just going to sit there complaining about your grandson, or are you going to turn on the oven to preheat it for me?"

Michael flipped open the carton of eggs and stared at the old man, waiting for his answer. He could just read his mind...but who was he to make a fuss about being snooped on by David and the others, if he intended to do the same thing to his own family? Yeah, it was funny to mess with Sam a bit, but if he didn't plan on eating someone...he had to draw the line somewhere.

Grandpa Emerson took one long drink and set his bottle on the table with a satisfied smack of his lips, "wouldn't have done it myself, but I guess it can't be helped now." He returned Michael's gaze with a heavy look of his own, "you behave yourself. I don't want any of those friends of yours getting any invitations into my house, you understand me?"

He shrugged in response, "didn't plan to, grandpa." The old man had never been the most open or friendly person. Hell, he'd pretty much all but come out and told him and Star they weren't going to get away from what they ultimately ended up becoming. He suspected there was something he wasn't being told, but there was plenty of time for grandpa to tell him on his own, if it really mattered.

"So..." Sam cleared his throat, grabbing a bag of chocolate chips from the fridge and tossing them onto the kitchen counter, "I just got a job...mowing this old guy's lawn and doing garden stuff. Small things around his house on weekends. He...he pays pretty good. Smells like old dog, though."

Michael snorted. Sam's subject switching tactics were legendary. Or, at least, painfully obvious. "I guess that means you both have something in common, since you're always sleeping with that dumb dog."

"He's not dumb!" Sam defended Nanook, who relaxed underneath the kitchen table, secretly gnawing on a sandal of Lucy's she'd yet to realize was missing.

Lucy crossed the kitchen to take a few eggs from Michael's grasp, looking up at him and smiling weakly as she used her free hand to reach up and brush curls away from his face, "you'll always be welcome home, Michael." This time, her voice wasn't laced with the tiniest hint of fear. That is, until a sharp rapping interrupted their moment together and Michael's eyes darted towards the kitchen window where David hovered outside.

 _"Kinda busy,"_ Michael scowled. He didn't need to look over at his little brother to know he was dashing out of the room to find some sort of holy object to defend himself with.

 _"Time's up,"_ David replied, winking at Lucy as she stared at him, dumbstruck to find herself facing the creature who'd stolen her son from her a second time.

Rolling his eyes, Michael knelt down to kiss his mother's cheek, "sorry. I told him to stay out in the yard, but..." he shrugged helplessly. Telling or asking David to do anything was useless. Bastard would do what he wanted, like it or not. At least he was still outside..for now. There was a small, anxious part of Michael, who actively resented the distance. But it just so happened to be the part he wasn't on speaking terms with right now.

"When are you coming over again?" Lucy asked as he walked out of the kitchen, hastily wiping her hands off on her apron.

Michael shrugged, "I don't know. A few days maybe. Soon. Don't worry about it."

Long after he was finally gone, Lucy remained at the screen door staring out into the darkness. She knew it was impossible, but she'd really hoped he'd stay over for the day. She'd even set up a cot in her closet for him, just in case. A silly part of her even thought if he just stayed around them a _little_ longer, spent more time with his real family...he might somehow turn back into the old Michael. But she knew it was just wishful thinking.

* * *

 _"So is this pretty much how it's always gonna be? You keep me on a stupid leash, and reel it in whenever I actually start to relax a bit?"_ Michael inquired as they left the Emerson property long behind, swallowed by a creeping white fog.

 _"Maybe. But suppose I just let you stick around a little too long, and something happened? Until you start to listen to your instincts, you'll never know when the sun is about to come up, then you're left stranded...maybe even dusted, if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time."_

 _"...You are full of shit, you know that?"_ Michael scoffed, as if he didn't know what David was playing at.

 _"You're not human. You don't belong with there anymore. I'm being nice, Michael. Sooner or later you're going to look at them, and you won't even know why you're there. Week by week, month by month, year by year, eventually they'll just look like another easy meal,"_ there wasn't even a hint of his general smug tone. And it really bugged the brunette, because that meant he was probably telling the truth. Or at least, thought he was.

 _"What would you know about it?"_ Michael snapped back.

 _"Honestly, nothing first-hand. But I've seen it happen. Paul ever tell you about his last pow-wow with his cousin? Pretty nasty. I think he's still got the newspaper clippings framed somewhere."_

 _"You're wrong,"_ Michael insisted, disbelievingly. He'd never hurt mom and Sam. Never.

 _"Wanna bet?"_

 _"I'm not making a stupid bet about this, David."_

 _"Because you'll lose."_

 _"Fine! Fuck. Whatever. Name the stakes, and I'll prove you're wrong."_

They didn't even need to see each other in their shroud of milky fog for Michael to _know_ David was grinning. But he was wrong. There was no way in hell Michael would ever stop caring about his mom and brother, even his grandpa to a lesser extent. No matter what.

* * *

" _It really can read the future. Watch, I'll show you_ ," Paul gave the Magic 8-ball a violent shake, squeezing his eyes shut tight as if he could somehow will the mystical force that compelled it to answer his questions to dig into the very ether of reality for secrets he might never learn on his own.

" _You have to ask a question first_ ," Dwayne replied dryly. They were all four sitting on the ground in a circle, passing the toy back and forth, now that Paul had decided to share a couple of joints. His own personal batch laced with just a little bit of Henbane and and Morning Glory for that extra kick...or really...any kick at all. It took a lot to trip a vampire up, and probably twice as much to work on Paul especially.

Star stared ahead of her, knees clutched to her chest, rocking slightly as her pupils dilated and fixed on one particular crack in the lobby wall. She could swear it was opening up in front of her. Maybe there was a second world just beyond it, a parallel universe...and there was another pack just like them seeking advice from a Magic 7-ball...or something along those lines. She was absolutely certain that if she kept looking, the crack would open wider. It already looked just a bit bigger now...

Marko nudged Paul's shoulder, " _how much did you give her?_ "

Paul squinted down at the toy in his hands, " _better not tell you now._ "

Just then, David strode into the lobby, in time to see Star's hands reaching forward to try and grasp the crack in the wall, despite the fact that she was several dozen feet away from it. He looked back and forth between her and the others, before settling on Paul, _"did I miss something?"_

Throwing his head back, Paul shook the 8-ball again, violently tossing his hair in the process to emphasize just how important it was for the toy to answer his question.

Dwayne glanced up at David and leaned over to prop his elbow up on one knee. He spoke aloud "nothing new." He reached forward to snatch the last remaining lit joint from Marko's hand and wrinkled his nose at it, unsure whether he wanted to get quite as blitzed as the other two apparently were right now. Luckily, he had enough restraint and common sense to wait for it to kick in on Paul before he had too much of it. So he probably wasn't about to start thinking he could see shapes in the ceiling talking to him. But there was still a good chance he'd have a bitch of a migraine tomorrow night.

"It is decidedly so," Paul added, slowly setting the Magic 8-ball down and rolling it towards Marko. The answer didn't make any sense, but he had an awed expression, as if the very meaning of the universe in all it's glory had just been revealed to him.

Star giggled madly, crawling towards the crack in the wall on her hands and knees just as Michael entered the lobby and drew to a stop at the sight...far more confused than David. The blonde had long gotten used to stumbling onto scenes like this, even if he only left for a couple of minutes to take a piss. Where Paul was concerned, nothing was too impossible. Even Marko had his moments.

The brunette quirked an eyebrow, warily looking over at Star and then back to David, "uh...what...the hell?"

Paul fell back on the ground, snickering. Marko lifted up the 8-ball and glared at it as the toy perched precariously on the edge of his outstretched palm, "should've thrown you in the sea," he threatened it. Then he squeezed his eyes shut tight, and repeated the question they'd asked earlier, " _am I ever gonna get laid_?!"

Michael and David exchanged glances with Dwayne, who just shrugged, " _I don't know what's wrong with them. Want a hit?_ " He offered the joint innocently to Michael, who glanced at it warily, and then back at Star who'd pressed her face up on wall by now, and was breathing into it, while she struggled with her claws to widen the crack she'd been so fascinated with. It didn't take a genius to make the connection now...

Ah, what the hell? Maybe it would put him in a better mood. Michael strode forward and knelt down to take the proffered delight that would have killed an average human being, before pressing it to his lips. He hated smoking. He really did. The first time he'd taken one off of David's hands, he'd been doing it to be polite. Maybe to chill out a bit, too...and that was exactly what he wanted to do right now. He'd regret it later.

* * *

"Please allow me to introduce myself," Paul purred, lounging over the side of the fountain, dangerously close to falling off of it while he drug his hand around over bits of dirt and rock inside of it, as if by magic it would somehow turn into a trickle of water if he tried hard enough.

Marko dangled from the ceiling, chasing phantom shadows of birds, "I'm a man of wealth and taaaaaste," he chimed in, laughing as he tripped and fell from the ceiling, drifting on a cloud of bliss until he was abruptly disrupted by Dwayne leaping up into the air to yank at his trailing braided curls and pull him to the ground with a laugh. Even he wasn't immune to a bit of fun, at the expense of Paul's shrinking stash, now that everyone was in on it.

Outside it had begun to rain, and with the Rolling Stones shrieking out from their worn stereo, it was as if the water and thunder pounded to the beat of the music as well as the beat of tonight's kills in their veins.

Star stumbled about on the ground, staring at her chipped claws. She just couldn't understand why the magic door in the wall wouldn't open...but it didn't matter. The fire from the oil drums was burning so brightly, the glimmering orange light cast enough dancing shadows about the lobby for her to be sure that creatures from that mysterious world beyond the crack in the wall had decided to join their party anyway. She spun about and tumbled to the ground in a fit of giggles just as Marko took to the air wrestling with Dwayne to try and get the taller vampire to release his braids.

David perched silently around the veiled passageway near the ceiling that lead towards the heart of the sunken hotel, taking a long pull from his regular cigarette as he kicked a leg out and watched the party below. _Someone_ had to babysit, after all. Mostly, though, he just watched Michael sitting backwards on the couch shaking the Magic 8-ball and desperately trying to find answers to a hundred questions. ' _Will I really forget my family? Why is the sky blue? Is there sunscreen strong enough for me to see the day again? Where are those sunglasses I lost last summer? Do you think there will be any cookies left next time I go back home?_ ' It didn't matter to him that the toy could only answer yes or no questions, each response from that blue-ish white cube at the very heart of the 8-ball's core was a wonder to him. He was... _really_ high.

Michael grew bored with the game long before David, who was cracking up at the sight, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette and casting his gaze towards the entryway to the lobby, where puddles of muddy water spilled over the steps, and Thorne skittishly poked his nose into it to lap some of it up. Paul had managed to crawl from the edge of the fountain towards Star, and they were soon wildly nipping at each other, reddened patches and thin trails of blood following their mouths on each other's necks and shoulders.

Dwayne had Marko in a headlock on the ceiling, laughing menacingly while the smaller vampire kicked and hissed at him, hopeless to gain the upper hand.

The water continued to pour over the steps, long after the song had ended, leading into a nameless tune David couldn't place. Sounded like Pink Floyd, but he wasn't sure. Didn't care. What he cared about right now was the sudden feeling of someone beside him, drawing aside the veil of fabric and nuzzling close to his neck. He smirked, flicking his cigarette butt into the air and glancing over at Michael.

" _Dumbass. You smoked the whole thing, didn't you?_ " He inquired dryly. Couldn't honestly see his mate being quite this friendly if he was in his right mind. Not yet, anyway.

Michael shrugged, eyes golden behind a haze of dark curls hanging over his forehead, " _maybe. Why's it matter?_ " Even in his head, Michael's thoughts were sluggish and slightly slurred.

Closing his eyes, David was half-tempted to take advantage of the situation. Again. Of course, he'd be risking the chance of a much bigger fight tomorrow night. Possibly even worse than the one at the motel. Reluctantly, he put a finger on Michael's forehead and pushed him away. The younger vampire growled, edging closer to him, " _smell good_ ," he insisted, keeping it short and simple. Maybe only capable of that right now, anyway.

David rolled his eyes, " _thanks. Now fuck off._ " He gave Michael a good shove and pushed him off of the perch.

Grumbling, Michael scowled and drifted in the air, " _you're a dick_."

The blonde shrugged, smirking, " _you'll thank me later. Now go play nice with the others. Daddy's not in the mood_." A blatant lie if ever there was one. God damn it, why couldn't Dwayne have just kept his big mouth shut? Now his good mood was ruined. At least if he'd gotten high, too, Michael wouldn't be able to blame him for what happened later.

He scratched his chin...hell, he could've just _pretended_ to get high. Damn it! Michael had better hurry up and get with the fucking program when he was sober, or David wasn't going to play _nice_ much longer. He was already reaching the limit of his patience. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out an empty cigarette packet and angrily threw it to the ground.

"Paul, you got any more?" David called down below, where the rocker was so bitten up at this point, he looked like a pox victim. "Check my bag, Daveeeeeey," he cooed, laughing when Marko and Dwayne began to pelt him and Star with small rocks to break up their make-out session. Meanwhile, Michael had disappeared into the rain.

" ** _Shit. Michael. Get your ass back here!_** " David called out agitatedly in his mate's mind, slipping down into the lobby to snatch up Paul's satchel and dig through it for a laced joint. When he finally found it, he looked back towards the doorway and pondered whether or not he should hunt for Michael with a clear and sober mind...or throw caution to the wind. The joint was already lit and in his mouth before his brain communicated with his body exactly what option he'd go with. Fuck it, at least he'd have a good time.


	7. Chapter 7: Begging Shmegging

Author's notes: Whew. Wasn't sure I'd pump this one out today. Hope you like it, gang. Naughty stuff follows, per usual. Bad things. David. Michael. Implied episode with Paul and Star, too.

* * *

Michael's feet carried him over slippery and very sparse patches of grass somehow managing to nestle in the rocky terrain, and shallow puddles, the soles of his boots disturbing the earth and helping the rain turn the soil beneath him to mud. He felt so very nice. Weightless. Dizzy in a good way. Not a care in the world or a thought solid enough to remain for long and nag at the back of his mind. It was like his head was stuffed so full of cotton and clouds, there wasn't room for anything else.

The rain pouring down made everything sparkle in the moonlight, sharpened the haze he was stumbling through. At some point, though he wasn't sure when, he found himself stumbling across a rickety wooden walkway, just shy of violently crashing waves, so very close to their scalding bite. He was stupidly tempted to lash out at them with a hiss, as if he could threaten the tide to pull away. In his addled state, the ocean looked like it was the night sky dripping down to cover the world. The wooden steps stretching high above the walkway looked like they were breathing with the tide's rhythm.

Damn. That shit was strong.

* * *

Michael couldn't go far, David had decided, while he waited for Paul's special blend to do it's work. Worst case scenario, he got himself drenched on the shore and had to stumble back to the cave with a few welts. It would serve him right for being an idiot. Still, probably be a lot easier to get this over with if he went ahead and hunted the brunette down before he was just as far gone. Sighing, David removed his duster and tossed it on the couch, not relishing the idea of getting it just as wet as the rest of his clothes.

" _Going out?_ " Dwayne called down from the ceiling. He wasn't holding Marko in a headlock anymore. Now the smaller vampire was skittering down the wall, plotting to find some sort of blunt object for a second round, maybe use it to knock Dwayne off of the ceiling...he was pretty sure they had a broken broom hanging around somewhere. Paul and Star had gone exploring the hotel, in search of knick-knacks to scatter around the lobby to replace the things that had been burnt and shredded...on pretense. They very likely _weren't_ doing that at all.

"Gonna get some smokes," David sarcastically replied to Dwayne's question, heading out into the driving rain and towards god knows what kind of mess Michael was getting himself in to.

* * *

Michael slowly pulled himself up the wooden steps, crawling on all fours, because he didn't want them to get mad at him and try to shake him off into the roaring tide below. He'd fly up them, but his head was spinning way too much right now for that to even be an option. Or maybe the steps were spinning?

"Shhhhh!" He tried to hush the rain, "you'll wake them up!" He hissed up to the sky, climbing up the steps even further, and pulling himself to shaky feet so he could brace himself on the railing. This was the single longest flight of stairs he'd ever traversed. Maybe they were growing? Michael slowly looked behind him to check how much progress he'd made...

About five steps.

Oh shit. He was trapped. He was never going to make it...he'd spend the rest of the night trying to get to the top, and then the sun would rise, and he'd be dusted...probably on the sixth step. What maniac had designed this evil contraption?! Oh god...and he couldn't even pray to end this suffering. Maybe when they discovered his remains the next night, they could erect a memorial in his honor...' _here lay Michael Emerson. He took the stairway to Heaven..._ '

Wait...no, probably not _that_ one...

Drawing his knees up to his chest, Michael sat down on the fifth step and stared out into the rain, curls plastered against his face. So this was how it ended. Somehow, he'd pictured something a little bit more violent, given how tough it had been trying to off David and the others (even then, not too permanently.) Why did they live so close to these death steps?!

 _"Michael, where are you?"_

He jerked his head up, looking around, " _... **god**?!_ "

There was a long pause. A vast emptiness of time that stretched on for eternity in the rain and the lightning...and then...

" _Okaaaay_... _no more pot for you_."

As if by magic, David seemed to coalesce from the shadows beyond the rusted gates that led towards the cave. Actually, he just stepped out of them, but Michael was way too forgone to make sense of anything right now, so for all he knew...David was a magician.

Holding out his hand, the blonde gestured for Michael to come back inside, "c'mon, Michael. Sun'll be up soon."

Clinging desperately to the railing, he shook his head, "no! I'm trapped!"

David scoffed, "you're not trapped, you're on a damn staircase!"

"It's endless...you don't understand... _it's getting longer_..." he whispered the last part so quietly, David could barely hear him. Because he didn't want to wake the staircase up. He could still feel it breathing beneath his feet.

"It's not getting longer, idiot," David shook his head, squinting down at the steps. Or...maybe it was. His eyes grew wide, and then darted back up towards Michael. The drugs were finally kicking in. Holy shit, how had they lived here so long without noticing this?!

Holding his breath, the younger vampire squeezed his eyes shut tight, " _David...I'm gonna die here. Again! My first death was bad enough, I don't want another one!_ " What good was it going to do him? He knew David would just leave him to rot if he had to. All Michael was to him was an easy fuck and a cheap joke. He opened his eyes and glared down at his master, " _you're not going to help me at all, are you? You're just gonna watch me die!_ "

David sputtered, incredulous. He didn't even know how to respond to that. " _Are you kidding me right now?!_ "

"You're a _bastard!_ " Michael spat out. Fighting with David just seemed to be his default setting. It wasn't like they'd gotten off on the right foot, even when they'd first met. "You don't give a shit about me! You wanted Star to eat me!"

The blonde threw his hands up in the air, " _ **for five god damn minutes!**_ If I wanted you dead, Michael, you'd be dead! I wouldn't have even bothered mating you, you stubborn son of a bitch!" He held out his hand, "now come on!"

Michael clung to the railing even tighter, the dampened wood seeming to crack under the force of his grip. The torrential downpour seemed to be growing even heavier, and the railing began to wobble. "I...can't."

David glared up at him, crossing his arms, "why not?"

"...I think my feet are stuck."

Looking down at Michael's legs with hazy vision, David was almost high enough to believe it was true. That the breathing steps had finally awoken because of the noise they were making, and had decided to wreak it's vengeance by trapping the younger vampire there permanently as a warning to the rest of the Lost Boys to never disturb it's slumber again.

"Take my hand, Michael," he whispered, leaning forward and grasping the bottom of the railing.

"You're...you're really not going to leave me here?" Michael frowned warily, slowly releasing his grip and pulling away small chunks of wood in the process. It took everything he had to relax his fingers and let them fall to the ground.

"No."

"Promise?"

"No."

"You don't promise?!"

"If you piss me off again, you're on your own," David shrugged, continuing to hold out his hand. "So what's it gonna be?"

Taking a deep breath, Michael steeled himself and slowly reached out to take David's hand. In an instant, he was pulled free from the steps, down to the ground below. He stumbled into David's arms with a yelp, clinging to him even tighter than he had to the railing only moments before. Soon, leather-clad fingers were combing through his wet curls, and this suddenly felt all too familiar.

And it struck them then how absolutely ridiculous they'd both been acting, when the staircase behind them seemed to settle. Unmoving. Unbreathing. Immoveable and lifeless once more. And to Michael's ears, the rain seemed to become muted when he pulled away from David just far enough to examine his face. He was high. He knew that much. Probably wasn't the right time to be making major life choices. Definitely wasn't the right time. And, yeah...he really hated David a vast majority of the time. He hated the lies, he hated the fighting, the taunting, and the fact that his life had been stripped away from him for a thousand reasons he couldn't even begin to understand. But...

But...fuck, he couldn't even think of how to finish that sentence. ' _But_ ' going weeks with only traces of intimacy when his stupid instincts craved more, even if it was because David fucked with his hormones when he'd hardly been turned for two nights...it was wearing on him. Maybe even more exhausting than that first week of bullying had been. He wanted his mate. Needed _more_ than just the taste of blood mysteriously on his tongue in his waking moments, and _more_ than just the annoying passing caresses that only pissed him off and stirred him up at the same time.

" _David_..." The name echoing from his mind a combination of reluctance, frustration, both a demand and a plea at the same time. Maybe...if they did this tonight... _maybe_ he'd be angry when he was sobered up, or maybe he'd accept the decision he'd made when he wasn't in his right mind. He'd just have to find out later, he supposed.

The blonde remained immovable, waiting and watching to see what Michael would do. Though he already knew, of course. But if he let him make the first move, then he'd be blameless later. Even with the pleasant buzzing in his ears and the way the world spun about them, he knew that much. But his tolerance to Paul's 'happy batches' was a little bit stronger than Michael's, too.

" _Fuck it, let's just do this,_ " Michael decided, which was as close to begging he'd probably ever get.

A small growl of frustration, and the brunette was leaning forward to nip at David's bottom lip, tongue snaking out to taste the droplets of blood welling up. That was the only invitation the blonde needed, and the same hand that had been stroking Michael's curls was now digging into his scalp, pulling his head closer so he could lean down to drag his fangs across the brunette's neck, and savor the taste of rain-kissed skin mixed with a razor-thin line of trickling blood.

A nagging thought flitted across Michael's mind when they moved until he was pressed against the rocky wall at the bottom of the steps...why was it that every time they fucked, except for the very first time, it was always outside?

David growled against Michael's ear, removing his gloves and shoving them into his pants pockets so he could be free to let his claws grow and run them up the small of Michael's back, pushing up his shirt and jacket to brush against soft skin. The brunette jumped, shivering and digging his own claws into David's shoulders so he could spin them both around and press the blonde up against the rocky wall instead.

Michael's jacket soon fell to the ground, both of them following soon after, and minutes melted into each other while the pair nipped and kissed, muffled groans caught by red-rimmed lips, healing scratches being washed and soothed by droplets of rain so much warmer than the skin it touched. At some point, it became far more violent, when tasting and groping just wasn't enough anymore. Frantically, they tore at each other's clothes while the patterns of the rocky soil and the mud around them seemed to dance under the moonlight. Even if both of them were more than willing in the moment, no matter what, their coupling would always be a fight for dominance.

When David finally managed to pin Michael to the ground, fangs dug deep into his shoulder, Michael howled in frustration, continuing to thrash and try to take control. Claws cut into his sides, and David growled around his mouthful of flesh to calm him.

" _Asshole_ ," Michael grumbled in David's mind, gasping in pain and eventually pleasure once David finally managed to drive into him.

" _Shut up_ ," David replied, groaning while Michael dug bloodied and dirt-caked claws into the ground beneath them.

* * *

"Alan." A flashlight clicked in the dark.

" _Alan_." The flashlight clicked off.

"Alan!" The flashlight clicked on again, this time it was shining directly in Alan's face, and he was forced to crack his eyes open to stare directly up into the grim shadow of his brother, peering down at him through the darkness of their cramped bedroom.

" **HOLY SHIT!** " Alan blurted out, surging forward and smacking his face on the flashlight before falling back on his mattress and rubbing at his forehead with a groan, "Ed, _what are you doing_?!"

Edgar climbed onto the bed and lowered the flashlight, face unchanging, "Alan...what if those bloodsuckers decide to come after us? What if they were just waiting for us to let our guards down, and any day they're planning to chow down on our necks like Christmas turkeys?"

Alan squinted, pulling himself up into a sitting position and pushing his comforter down, "Ed...you need to go to bed. Stop thinking about them. Pretend they don't exist. Cover your half of the room with crucifix wind chimes if you have to! It's over, okay? It's over. We're alive. Sam's alive. They let us go...they're...they're not gonna bother us if we just stay out of their business."

"How do you know that?!" Edgar demanded, digging his fingers into his brother's shoulder and giving him a good shake. "We need to strike first before-"

Alan decked him in the face and shoved Edgar to the ground with a grunt, "no. No no no no no. No. _No!_ " As he shouted this, he covered his head with his blanket to block out the inane plotting his brother was no doubt about to fill his head with. Not this time. Alan could get behind a fake plan to make money by tricking people into thinking they were exterminating werewolves, but he did **_NOT_** want to ever go back to that cave or see any of those crazy sons of bitches again. Next time, he just knew they wouldn't be playing around.

Edgar squawked, hair flying when he fell to the ground, rubbing at his sore cheek, "you're right...gotta let it go..." he mumbled under his breath. Then he let out a deep sigh, and climbed to his knees, pulling his arms up over the side of Alan's mattress to give his brother a good punch in the ribs. Lightning struck, thunder echoed so loudly outside that it rattled the windows. And a large wolf-ish creature was illuminated by the bright white light before it disappeared into the yard. Meanwhile, the Frogs got into a fairly distracting fight, so they didn't have time to notice.

* * *

Marko yawned, fangs in evidence as he latched his feet onto his perch and stretched his arms above his head. Dwayne stumbled into the room, grasping at his head.

" _Fuccccck, that shit was way too strong. I'm going to kick Paul's ass tomorrow,_ " he groaned, taking to the air to settle into his own spot.

The smaller vampire definitely agreed, " _why do we keep trusting him? Shit, man. Feels like my skull is about to crack open._ "

They continued to make small talk, both relaxed and exhausted from the combination of the approaching sun and the residual effects of the deadliest joints they'd ever smoked. It was a good ten minutes before Star and Paul trailed into the room...wearing each other's clothes. They both looked like they'd had another dose, as dazed as they both looked, stumbling about in the dark until they finally managed to nestle on their perch together.

It was another half hour before David and Michael showed up. And they didn't say a damn word, but the scent of blood and sex was practically oozing from their pores.

Marko grinned, just about to make a comment when Dwayne gave him a warning shake of his head.


	8. Chapter 8: Yard Work

Author's notes: Super short today, but probably going to have a longer one tomorrow.

* * *

Sam shoved a packet of snack cakes and some bottled water into his backpack. It was almost 12, and he was running late. But if he ran, he could probably make up for lost time. And old man Farkas would only wait so long before he docked Sam's measly 'ten bucks a day' wage. He was nice enough, but unbelievably strict about penny pinching. Wouldn't have even offered Sam the job if grandpa hadn't been vouching for him at the local gun club. Though, why an 80-year-old man was still in any kind of organization like that was beyond him.

"Bye, mom!" Sam called out, waving at her from the top of the steps when she passed by with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other.

"You'd better hurry," Lucy advised, when Sam crossed through the kitchen to head towards the front door.

"Don't worry, I am," Sam chirped happily, practically slamming the door behind him as he jogged across the front lawn towards the road. It was really wet outside from all that rain they'd gotten last night, but Mr. Farkas didn't live too far, so he left his bicycle in the garage in favor of a brisk run. He was finally going to live a (mostly) normal life, and this new job was a symbol of that. No more worrying about Mike, for the most part...he could rest easily knowing his brother probably wasn't going to kill him, anyway...even if he did so happen to be a blood-drinking murderer. No more research marathons with the Frog brothers, or having to turn a blind eye to his freaky parents walking through the living room so blown out of reality that they didn't even know where they were. This was pretty much as normal as his life could possibly get. Now all he needed was a girlfriend and maybe a car. He'd be happy with at least one of the two, if he couldn't have both.

Sam was in such a good mood, he was even able to force himself to ignore Edgar and Alan when he saw them pop out from behind the totem pole in the front yard and begin to tail him. Whatever. He was going to give them the silent treatment for as long as possible until they finally took the hint. They couldn't honestly be dumb enough to think he didn't know they were there.

* * *

So far so good. Edgar was more than pleased with himself. Sam hadn't even noticed them. He'd been right about the grease paint. There was no way they'd be caught as long as they had their trusty camouflage to protect them. Should've worn more when they went to track down that nest at the beach, and maybe they could have avoided being caught by the Lost Boys.

They tailed him down the street into a bizarrely overgrown yard, lined with an immaculate white picket fence that stood out even more for the insane contrast. If it weren't for that fence, and a sliver of a porch poking into his field of vision through a mess of vines and weeds, he wouldn't have even known it was a yard. And Sam was just blindly walking in there without even pausing to inspect the perimeters!

"Alan," Edgar rasped, pulling his brother close as they pulled to a stop in front of the fence, while Sam continued to march forward and out of their sight onto the porch and behind a curtain of trailing dead greenery.

"What?" Alan glanced back at Edgar and towards where Sam had disappeared. They were both getting really crazy vibes about this place. Only the Swamp Thing would find a dump like this even remotely inhabitable.

"I have a really bad feeling about this...I think you should go in first," Edgar grunted, giving Alan a shove.

"Why me?!"

"Because...I've got your back, brother," he replied. An excuse he'd been known to use more than once.

Alan glanced back towards the house doubtfully, a hand unconsciously reaching up to brush at his cheek where he could still feel the slight ache of a healed bee sting. He took a deep breath and punched Edgar in the shoulder, "I'm going in," he nodded, diving over the side of the picket fence, and barrel rolling a few times over patches of dead flowers and what he would later come to realize was known as 'poison oak'.

Edgar decided to nestle down in front of the picket fence, digging into his backpack and fishing out a pair of binoculars while he waited for Sam to make a re-appearance, or Alan to give him an update on the walkie talkie when he found a good spot to spy on whoever lived in this hellhole of a weed-ridden melting pot. If Sam really had gotten a job looking after the yard here, or whatever, he had plenty of shit to do...Edgar could definitely give him credit for at least managing to find something that would last long enough to pay off. Still, what he and Alan had in mind went way beyond whatever meager income Sam might be getting off of this.

They had it all planned out. Alan would spy on the guy Sam was working for, get enough basic information from him to figure out what made him tick, then from there they could figure out the weaknesses in his defenses and his schedule...and like the perfectly planned war game, they'd stage the 'werewolf' attack, make themselves known, then rake in the dough. It was the perfect plan. Too perfect to fail.

He jerked, lowering himself to the ground when he caught sight of Sam making an appearance back in the yard from around the side of a large mass of trees alongside what Edgar could only assume must be the side of the house...and behind him, he was dragging a manual lawnmower. Edgar cringed. This was probably going to be a very. Long. Day.

Edgar barely even heard the panicked huffs and squeaks of his brother over the crackling of his walkie talkie.

* * *

Somehow, Michael found himself waking up with a surprisingly weak headache. The residual effects of whatever shit Paul had thrown together and dubbed worthy of vampiric consumption. Ugh. He was never smoking again. Of that much, he was certain. Especially after that trip he'd had. And...

His eyes snapped open, as he replayed the events of the previous night in his mind. The 8-ball. The breathing staircase. The sex... _again_. He released his feet from their perch and fluttered through the time-worn corridors and under rotted beams towards the hotel lobby. While he headed there, Michael kept a fairly slow pace. He wasn't quite ready for dizzying speeds right now, the way his head was still spinning a little from conflicting thoughts and his quickly fading headache.

Nobody had forced him to smoke that joint. God damn it, he couldn't even really blame David this time for riling him up. Hell, he'd even been told to fuck off the first time he'd made a move before his trip had turned to shit. For once, it was his own fault. He'd even known he'd be mad at himself tonight for doing it, too. So what the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just say no?

By the time he'd finally managed to arrive in the lobby, the boys were waiting for both him and Star, ready to head out for the night. David reclined on an over-stuffed old chair they must have just grabbed out of one of the old rooms, something he could only imagine must be a temporary replacement until he got himself a new set of 'wheels'. He really had liked his old throne. That much Michael had figured out when they'd practically had a funeral for it not long after taking Sam home from the fight on the beach.

As Star flew into the room in a fresh change of clothes, a skirt she'd nicked off of a kill a few days ago and a simple black t-shirt, Michael was only too happy to avoid looking at David while he continued to get his thoughts in order. It would be nice if he could figure out a way to be reasonably angry at the bastard for the previous night, but he really couldn't force it. Not without going over old territory and issues he'd already made peace with.

 _"Dude, everybody...chill out! Mother fuckers are acting like that wasn't the best shit you ever had last night!"_ Paul glanced around at everyone, grinning madly while he kept his thumbs tucked into his back pockets. Then Michael realized he wasn't the only one stuck in his own head. That explained the mysterious lack of conversation.

Star gave Paul an indignant glare, crossing her arms and then looking away from him. His face fell, " _hey, you said you liked it!_ "

" _I was high, Paul! Next time, I'd appreciate a warning!_ " She huffed, marching out of the lobby.

Marko watched them leave, biting the thumb of his glove, " _I think he tried to pull that on Dwayne once, too-_ "

" _Shut up, Marko,_ " Dwayne gave the smaller vampire a warning growl and followed Star out of the lobby.

Michael honestly wondered whether he really wanted to know. But if it was really that bad, he didn't want to find out through first-hand experience either...

David chuckled, standing up from his chair and crossing the lobby to throw an arm around Michael's shoulder, " _you really don't want to know. Trust me. There's a reason we don't let him play with balloons._ "

"...Balloons?" Michael repeated aloud, wrinkling his nose, and doing his best not to envision the many scenarios Paul could possibly figure out ways to corrupt them for more nefarious purposes.

" _Not surprised she's pissed at him. Kinky son of a bitch,_ " Marko added with a snicker.


	9. Chapter 9: Sam's Bad Idea

Author's notes: Now, I know you guys want me to let you in on exactly what Paul does with those balloons. But...I'm not going to tell you. Because there are just some things we're all better off not knowing. Just like Roxie and Sam with the soap bar in the last story series, I'm leaving it to your imaginations.

* * *

Sam felt _terrible_. He really did. Convincing mom he was going to spend the night with a classmate for an all-night study session hadn't been easy. He'd even had to go so far as to have her drop him off at a random house near the school and walk all the way to the front door and have a short conversation with the woman who lived there before Lucy had been persuaded to leave. It was really awkward trying to sell a magazine subscription that didn't exist. Even more awkward when the lady actually wanted to buy one...but when mom drove off and was long gone, Sam broke into a run and tore off down the street. And hopefully he never saw that poor dumb-founded woman again, holding her checkbook and calling after him desperately, as if the only human contact she'd ever had was from teenagers coming to her door to bother her about mail-in junk she didn't need.

Thankfully it wasn't quite dark yet, and the boardwalk was close enough for him to get there by nightfall. Every muscle in his body throbbed, and every bone ached from spending most of the day pulling weeds, mowing lawns, and fighting a jungle of dead greenery...but he had to see Mike. This couldn't wait another couple of days or weeks, or whenever the hell that asshole decided to swing by the house to remind them he still existed.

Because when the old man had opened his back door to throw out some garbage, and found Alan whimpering outside of his kitchen window, Sam had nearly lost his job. Mr. Farkas did not like unexpected guests. And especially the kind who spied on him when he ate his lunch. He couldn't even get any sensible words out of Alan before he persuaded the old man not to call the cops on him. All he'd kept saying was 'raw meat. Raw meat. Raw meat!'

This act...was just way too much. It was scaring him. The Frogs needed to learn Sam was _done_ with them. And telling them nicely, even angrily, apparently hadn't worked too well. So now, here he was...trailing around the shops and rides on the boardwalk, searching for signs of the Lost Boys. Particularly his brother, who was the only one he honestly _ever_ wanted to see again. Plus, Sam wasn't under any impression he wasn't just an easy meal for the others if it came right down to it and Mike wasn't around to try and protect him. Hell, even if Mike was around...as much as he'd been changing...

Shaking his head, Sam banished the thoughts from his mind. No. Mike would _never_ want to hurt him or mom, no matter what. Sure, he'd scare the shit out of him, but it wasn't like he didn't torment Sam when he was human. Hell, that's just what big brothers do. Shit-sucker or not. He hoped.

It seemed like ages before he found them, which made sense. The sun was still going down when Sam got there. And when he finally saw them, he almost chickened out. Lounging around their bikes silently, occasionally one of them would smirk and another might laugh...even Mike seemed to be in on it. And now that he wasn't on a beach fighting to maintain his last thread of sanity, Sam realized this was the first time he'd ever seen his brother with them...apparently having a good time. Even his girlfriend didn't look too upset, though she was nowhere near Michael. It was kinda weird, but looked like she had something going with Twisted Sister, the way he had his arms locked around her waist and his chin on her shoulder. Ugh...maybe they shared her?

What bothered Sam the most was the fact that they really did look pretty intimidating now, surrounded by the rest of the group. They even looked like they _belonged_.

He hesitated, leaning against a clothing shop window and tucking his hands into his pockets. Maybe he should just figure out a way to go home without bothering them. Even if it did mean putting up with the Frog brothers for a few more days or weeks, at least he knew he'd be way safer. Far away from these maniacs...especially the one he'd used their stereo to play William Tell with.

And as if just thinking about him was enough to draw his attention, Sam immediately felt cold eyes boring into his skull. He jerked and looked towards the shit sucker in question, who was fairly close to the edge of the group. And like clockwork, each of the others in turn looked up to direct their focus on him. He especially felt the full force of Michael's angry gaze leveled at him. _Shit._ This really was a bad idea. And now it was too late to back out.

"Uh..." Sam coughed, pushing himself away from the building. "I heard there was this sale going on, and I...I couldn't pass it up," he practically shouted in their direction, getting more than a few odd passing looks. He felt around a couple of discount coat racks just outside of the open shop door and snatched at the closest one, pulling it on over his shoulders. "See? Perfect. I really needed this..."

Michael's angry glare melted into something else. Amusement, maybe? Why? Sam turned back towards the shop window to glance at his reflection...it wasn't a coat. It was a wrap dress that just needed to be tied up to create the perfect floral ensemble. He quickly shrugged it off and slipped the dress back onto the rack sheepishly, "I...it looked different on the hanger..."

Pushing away from his bike, Michael swiftly crossed the boardwalk towards Sam, and he practically scrambled to get away from his brother before a hand grabbed the back of his shirt collar and jerked him back. Whining pitifully, he kicked out his arms and tried to weasel out of Michael's grasp, "Mike...c'mon, let me go!"

"Calm down, dork, we're just gonna talk," Michael snorted, letting go of Sam's collar at just the wrong moment. He practically stumbled to the ground, just barely catching himself before his face kissed the shop wall.

"I'm sorry! I think...I think there was still some of that crazy fish stuff hanging around, it made me act stupid! Let's just pretend I never came here!" Sam pushed himself to his feet and then pressed himself against the shop wall, practically cowering under Michael's gaze.

"...Are you afraid I'm going to eat you, or are you afraid I'm going to tell mom about this?" Michael asked him, crossing his arms and stepping back.

"Would you hit me if I said both?"

 _ **THWACK!**_

"JEEZE, ASS-FACE, YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO HIT SO HARD!" Sam shouted, rubbing at his sore shoulder. He wasn't sure if it was going to bruise, or something worse...what was worse than a bruise? Maybe he was about to find out.

"I don't even know what to say to you!" Michael exclaimed, throwing his hands up, "in the last month you've done some of the _dumbest shit_ I've ever seen! Dumber than me! All I did was drink from a shitty wine bottle, at least I had an excuse to act stupid. I don't even...I just..." He rubbed at his temples, quickly covering his face.

"Mike?" Sam asked warily, leaning forward a bit. "Are you okay?"

"Just...just gimme a minute," he rasped back, voice a few octaves deeper than it normally was.

"HOLY SHIT!" Sam shouted, and then looked around, lowering his head and voice, " _holy shit, Mike...are you vamping out on me right now?!_ "

"Why are you here, Sam?" Michael demanded, keeping his face covered. Pretty much answering Sam's question.

"Look, I didn't know what to do. Edgar and Alan won't leave me alone. They've got this stupid new idea about werewolves or some bullshit, and they followed me to my job today, then they hung out just...watching me. Snooping on my boss. Almost got me fired. I'm really worried it's just gonna get worse, and I was just hoping..." Sam bobbed his head a little, hoping Mike would catch his drift.

Golden eyes squinted up at him through splayed fingers, and Michael grunted, urging him to keep going.

"Ugh...I was just hoping you'd get them to stop."

Michael took a deep breath, removing his hands from his face. His eyes were back to normal. For the most part. Still looked like a serial killer, kinda. But they were a normal color, and that's what counted. "Yeah, sure. Probably shouldn't have let them live last time anyway. Haven't eaten, either, so I guess I can get two birds with one stone-"

" _NO!_ "

"What?"

"Not that!" Sam whispered, covering his mouth in horror.

Michael shrugged, "if you're worried about getting caught, I mean-"

"Mike! What the hell happened to you?! I don't want you killing _anyone_!"

A hand ruffled Sam's hair a little too roughly, and Michael grinned at him, "okay. I won't kill them. If they don't piss us off again. I promise."

Sam stared at him pensively, reaching up to smooth his hair back with a sigh. He guessed that was probably the best he could get out of this situation. Ed and Alan weren't family. Like it or not, he and mom, and maybe grandpa were probably the only human beings left in the world Mike gave a shit about. "I just wanted you to give them a warning. Like...use some of that magic dream shit you mentioned."

"Uh...I can't do that."

"You said you could!"

"No, I didn't. I'm pretty sure I said maybe David could, or I might have said 'they'. But I never said I could. You'll have to ask them for help," Michael glanced back at the Lost Boys chilling out around their bikes, and Sam could swear they looked like they wanted to eat him. He gulped.

"...why don't you ask them? I don't think they'd listen to me..."

* * *

Oh, they definitely weren't going to listen to Sam. Michael was well aware of that. He'd have to do the actual talking, and probably even make another stupid deal with David for him to agree to it. But damn it, the dork should have known not to come out to the boardwalk at night, even if those fishy fucks were gone. So maybe the others _wouldn't_ kill Sam with Michael around to defend him, that didn't mean they wouldn't if he'd somehow managed to go off hunting alone...and not to mention, he had no idea what else there could be lurking around Santa Carla. Maybe another pack. Maybe nothing at all. He'd made it very clear he didn't want any of them coming out here when the fucking sun went down!

Sometimes he felt like a god damned babysitter. So yes, he was going to help Sam. But he wasn't going to make it easy. The Frog brothers weren't the only ones who apparently needed another lesson.

"C'mon, Sam, let me introduce you to the boys, huh?" Michael wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulder and practically drug him away from the shop.

"Mike, please! I already met them! We don't really need to do this..." Sam squeaked, stumbling as he tried to keep up with him. Or maybe tried to wriggle free. A combination of the two. "I already met them!" He added, frantically trying to pry Michael's hand off of his shoulder. But he had a pretty firm grip, supernatural strength notwithstanding.

It didn't even strike him for a moment how tough he was being on his little brother. But then again, he had already found with the passing nights that certain elements of being human no longer seemed to make sense. Not that he didn't love Sam, but he was still pretty ticked off, and playing nice just seem to be in his vocabulary anymore. Unfortunately, his little brother needed to learn that. Before he got himself killed.


	10. Chapter 10: Intimidation Tactics

Author's notes: Is it just me, or is it really hard to find a fun horror flick these days? Seems like a lot of really poorly-written scripts get through with weird SFX to match. Anyway, not really relevant. But I will say Lost Boys wouldn't be nearly as good if it didn't have Schumacher behind it, or wasn't made when it was. Came out at the perfect time.

* * *

David tilted his head down with a smirk and dropped his cigarette to the ground so he could crush it under his boot heels, as Michael approached with his little brother in tow. It seemed like no matter what, as long as his family stayed in Santa Carla, the kid would always be an albatross around their necks. Most of his problems could be solved with killing. In the face of one like this, when his mate was finally on the verge of completely letting go...just wringing Sam Emerson's neck wasn't going to cut it. Somehow, some way, he'd have to convince Michael getting his family to leave Santa Carla was for the best. He had his work cut out for him.

 _"Brought a snack for us?"_ He lifted his head and smirked at the pair, Sam still squirming under Michael's grip.

" _Not the time, David,_ " Michael replied darkly. Clearly he wasn't in the mood for jokes...the headache from that shit last night probably didn't help too much.

" _Careful there, you're gonna hurt him if you squeeze too tight_ ," David replied dryly, noting the force with which Michael's fingers dug into his brother's shoulders. He probably didn't even realize how rough he was being. If his claws were out, the muscle and skin beneath would have been shredded by now.

Michael's grip relaxed and he gave his brother a very firm warning glare. Sam seemed to get the message, because he stood his ground and nervously tucked his hands into his tacky coat pocket while he kept his gaze firmly fixed on a speck of dirt near his feet. He probably didn't even know running would just make them _want_ to chase him. There was nothing better than a meal on the go. As it was, they'd been more than fair pretending the little bastard didn't exist after his episode on the beach and what he'd done at the cave. Both times. Just thinking about it was enough to nearly push David over the edge.

"Sam," Michael said his brother's name calmly, "don't be a baby. Look up. The sooner you do, the sooner we can get this over with."

A couple passed by, locked arm-in-arm, pausing to watch the group before quickly averting their eyes and shuffling on. It wasn't uncommon for anyone who just so happened to be seen in the same places with the Lost Boys to turn up missing later. There was nothing they could do for him, even if they wanted. It took a lot of time to condition the locals as well as they had, David mused while Sam finally seemed to have gotten the hint and turned his eyes upwards to lock on his first.

David could do a thousand things just with that gesture alone. He could make the kid think larvae were hatching under his eyelids. He could make him think his skin was burning from the inside out. He could even do a million things the others couldn't, because when Max got offed, he inherited all of the power the old bastard had hoarded for himself. And man, it would be hilarious to just let his imagination run wild. But for now, he'd be good. Sam didn't know it. Hell, Michael didn't even know it either...but this was the kid's last chance. If he behaved, the worst thing that could come out of this meeting was a nightmare or two. If he got another stupid idea in his head, Michael would just have to get over it. Even if it took him a few decades.

"Nice to meet ya again, Sam. Last time we talked, Marko was pretty sore with you," David drawled, looking back at Marko, who leaned forward and licked his lips. Sam flinched, stepping a little further back, only to find himself colliding into Dwayne behind him.

David turned to Dwayne and winked, _"this one's yours. Have fun."_

Michael frowned, " _do what you have to if it means getting him to stay home. Just don't kill him._ "

Dwayne looked over at Michael with a raised eyebrow, " _I wouldn't dream of it._ "

" _What? I don't get even a little of the action? That hurts...it really does_ ," Marko feigned a sigh.

David rolled his eyes " _hey, there's two more left we're still going to fuck with tonight, so you'll get your turn too._ "

" _They're kinda boring, Davey. All they do is whine and scream. No real fight when you get them worked up enough,_ " Paul chimed in.

Star remained silent, eyes focused on Sam. She didn't _like_ the Frog brothers. Maybe they'd tried to save her and Michael, but they'd almost staked Laddie. What's more, she vaguely recalled them plotting to do the same to her before Michael carried her out of the hotel. No, there would be no love lost on them if they ended up dead tonight. But she had no reason to hate Michael's little brother. So David honestly doubted she'd be of much use intimidating him unless she had to.

Sam pulled away from Dwayne, spinning about to face him with a whimper. "Hey, Michael's one of you now...so...it's behind us, right? All over? We're good?" He stammered hopefully, plucking at his shirt sleeves.

"Well, Dwayne? Are you 'good'?" David asked aloud, casual as he tucked a fresh cigarette between his lips and cupped his hands over it with a lighter.

Remaining immovable, Dwayne just stared Sam down, silent.

"Guess that's a yes," Marko snickered and bit the thumb of his glove.

"They look like best buddies. Probably going to trade fashion tips and chat about boy toys pretty soon," Paul cooed.

Dwayne smoothed back his hair, and he couldn't help smirking, " _you're ruining my moment._ "

Michael leaned in to his brother's ear and patted him on the shoulder, "they're assholes, Sam. I have to live with them on a daily basis. So just take a deep breath, say what you need to say, and we can speed this up."

David slammed a hand into his chest as if he'd been mortally wounded, "ouch. My heart. That's not very nice. Was that nice, Paul?"

"No, I don't think so. What do you think, Star?" Paul grinned.

She just rolled her eyes and replied with absolutely no inflection whatsoever, just to hurry the game up, "no. It wasn't. 'Was it nice, Marko?'" Honestly, sometimes she really took the fun out of this.

"No, it-" Marko began.

"Okay, I get it! I just wanted you guys to give Ed and Alan some bad dreams so they'd stop bugging me, okay?! I don't wanna die, I know coming out here was stupid, and I'll never do it again!" Sam exclaimed, tensing his shoulders and squeezing his eyes shut to await the killing blow.

And just to fuck with him, they all remained silent. None of them even moved while Sam waited for a response. Each passing second freaked him out a little more, giving him plenty of time to work up his imagination and really let his stupid actions hit home.

" _What do you want to do, boys?_ " David struck up a pleasant conversation while they waited for Sam to open his eyes. Looked like he was breaking into a sweat now. The smug leader of their pack was almost proud of the way Michael remained unphased throughout. Even crossed back towards his bike to lean against it, leaving Sam standing barely a foot away from Dwayne, rushing through mental prayers and pleas.

 _"Give them all some dreams. I don't think reality hits home for the others like it might for this one. Show him what's going to happen if he bothers us again,"_ Dwayne decided, crossing his arms and glancing back towards Michael.

" _If that's what it takes. It's out of my hands now,_ " Michael shrugged. " _I did my best. He just doesn't listen._ "

 _"Do you know what you're agreeing to, Michael?"_ David glanced over at his mate with a thin smile, pulling his lips back to simply let the smoke drift slowly from them.

Michael remained pensive, finally pulling away from his bike and calling out to his brother, "Sam. We'll help you. Just...go home." He paused. "Tell mom the truth about what you did tonight, too. _I will_ if you don't."

Long after the little twerp had disappeared through the crowd, David kept his gaze fixed on Michael. Hell, maybe the fact that his brother kept pulling stupid stunts like this was a blessing in disguise. After all, as nice as he was being, Michael owed him a pretty big favor now. He already had a good idea of what it was, too.

* * *

"Okay, so, I drew up a map on the back of my history textbook when we were watching Sam today, I've got a pretty good diagram of the front yard...tomorrow, I think we'll have to do some work around the back, figure out the layout, exactly where we want to set the trap-" Edgar looked up at Alan from across the coffee table, where his brother was just sitting on the easy chair, motionless and murmuring. He'd been like that since they got home, and it was driving Edgar crazy. He couldn't get a lick of sense out of him, and he really didn't know what to do!

"Alan! Pay attention!"

Alan slowly looked towards Edgar, and then down at the opened textbook in front of them with the crude drawings in crayon and pencil. He slowly leaned forward and gripped the edge of the book to slam it closed. "We are _not_ going back there. Ever."

"What do you mean?! This is the perfect-" Edgar nearly exploded, when Alan jumped up to his feet and shook his head wildly.

"EDGAR. THE GUY. EATS. RAW. MEAT! HE'S A MANIAC!"

"...What?"

"I saw it. Through the window. The freaky old dude was just...he had a...thing in his fridge. A possum. A raccoon. Maybe a monkey. I don't know...it was all skinned and bloody. Then he carved it up and tossed it...piece by piece...into a blender...and he drank it like a fruit smoothie, ed! A SMOOTHIE! I think he even tossed in some instant pudding mix and garlic..I dunno...for flavor, or texture, or something..."

Edgar wrinkled his nose, resisting the urge to gag at the image in his mind's eye, "you were just seeing things."

"No, I wasn't!"

"Maybe he's on a special diet."

"What kind of diet...what...how are...EDGAR, GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD, THIS IS OVER! _WE NEED TO STOP!_ It's like...it's like no matter what, when we try to make something up or _you_ come up with an idiotic plan, somehow we stumble into...stuff like this! I'm not doing it anymore, okay? I'm not! You should've seen his face when he caught me watching him...he had veins all around his lips, Ed...spidery...thin blue and purple veins...they were like freaky-ass spider legs crawling out of his mouth!" Alan was stomping around the living room now, gesticulating with his hands at unseen things, practically screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Hey!" Edgar hissed, opening his book up again, "you need to cool it! You know how mom and dad get around this time of the month!"

Alan slowed to a halt, rubbing at his eyes with his hands and then muffling a frustrated curse, exhausted. Every time their mom had some aunt visiting, they'd lock themselves up in their room for like...three days...and god forbid they ever be reminded they had two teenage sons in the other room. As if it made a difference when they were acting normal by their definition anyway.

"I get it, Alan. You're tired. Not thinking with a clear head. Probably still mixed-up after that accident with those bloodsuckers...just go to bed. I'll work up some more plans and we'll talk about this in the morning," Edgar grunted, looking down at his textbook and coloring in a shaded spot with more red crayon.

And Alan, for his part, really didn't know what else to say. With Ed, everything was always 'in one ear and out the other' if he didn't have his way. Well, whatever. Fine. If Ed decided to follow Sam again tomorrow to that creepy house, he'd be doing it alone. And this time, there was no way in hell a speech about American spirit and justice would convince him. **NO** way!


	11. Chapter 11: Marko Gets His

Author's notes: Felt like it was time to show another little tid-bit from Marko's POV. I don't think I give him enough attention. And anyway, yes...another chapter. I'm on a roll right now, baby.

* * *

Marko kicked his heels, sitting on the pier overlooking the beach beside Dwayne, Paul, and David. Below them, Star and Michael dined on a couple of drifters in the relative safety of the shadows. Safe for them, anyway. Not so much for anyone who happened to run into just about any member of their little pack. Marko snickered to himself at the word 'little'. Really, they were probably going to have to stop here for awhile. Maybe even another fifty years if he and Dwayne could hold off on mating for a little while longer. Because unlike David, Marko was holding out for a chick. Didn't really matter much, but that's what he had his heart set on. Eventually. For now, he was more than happy to watch Paul and David make a bunch of stupid mistakes, and laugh at their expense.

Shit. Maybe he was smart enough not to get those crazy-ass vibes. He really didn't need to deal with the drama. Marko mostly just liked to watch, to hang round, and maybe instigate a little when it didn't get his ass handed to him. Granted, that did happen on occasion...especially in the beginning, when he'd been around David long enough not to be fucking scared out of his mind, and yet not quite long enough to know his limits. And when it came to Max...forget about it. The old prick had absolutely no sense of humor. When they'd pinned him with a bat kite, he'd nearly torn Paul's scalp out. But that's what Paul got for flying too low...

" _Hey, Dwayne...you think of anything yet?_ " Marko leaned forward, grinning at him. Personally, he had quite a few ideas to toss out if Dwayne was open to them. He'd be more than happy to lend a hand, if need be. Too bad David wouldn't teach any of them how to manipulate dreams. Thought they'd drive too many locals insane with that kind of power. He was right, of course. After all, with dreams, nobody would be able to pinpoint them as the culprits. They'd just think their subconscious minds were going ape-shit on them. Man...that would be fucking sweet...and what a way to pass the time when they weren't feeding or partying. Sure beat getting dive-bombed by Paul and Dwayne when they weren't busy with their own hobbies (screwing and book-reading. Maybe for Dwayne, even at the same time, if he was in a good mood.)

" _Well, I said we could show him what could happen if he bugs us again. I've got a pretty good one...but you'll have to wait to find out about it until David's done playing it out. It's a good one, though_ ," Dwayne mused, leaning back and propping himself up on his elbows so he could look up at the full moon with a dark smirk. Marko knew that look. Yeah...this was definitely gonna be a good one.

" _Oh, does he bang him?_ " Paul crowed, receiving a slap upside his head from David for his efforts.

" _That's fucking sick, dude. So skinny, the little bitch probably hasn't even dropped yet,_ " Marko snickered.

"Stop talking about my brother's balls! I'm trying to eat!" Michael called out from below the pier, before the sound of a muffled scream followed, accentuated by the sound of flesh tearing.

" _Hey, I was just saying they hadn't dropped. Maybe he doesn't even have any, Mikey. Have you checked?_ " Marko squinted through a few wooden slats below to get a look at Michael, glaring up at him while his mouth was firmly sealed over a very bloody and shredded neck. He was an insanely messy eater.

" _Grace period's over, Marko. He's got free reign now to kick your ass if he wants to,_ " David remarked with a smirk, " _should be fun. Keep going._ "

Marko huffed, crossing his arms, " _he can't kick my ass. I'd like to see him try it._ "

The other three made their bets, keeping their thoughts hidden from Marko in the process...but it wasn't like he didn't know what they were doing. That funny look Paul was making gave them away. So what if he was small? He was still more than 3 times Michael's age! There was no way he'd lose in a fight if it came down to it...okay, granted, Mikey was kinda strong for a fledgling...and Marko's best skill had mostly been flight...

Damn. Maybe he should've thought this through.

Star stood up from her kill, wiping off her mouth on the back of her hand and shaking the sand from her skirt, "you could probably get him back for that feather joke, too. Oh, and when he dug his claws into your neck back at the diner...I'm sure he's done a few other things, now that I think about it. Can you maybe throw in a few punches for me too?" She addressed Michael, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. They weren't as close as they used to be, but damned if it didn't look like Michael really liked some of the ideas she was tossing out.

" _You...are a bitch,_ " Marko growled down at her.

" _Takes one to know one, Marko,_ " she snapped back.

" _This is about eating your Cher tapes, isn't it? Wasn't it bad enough they gave me gas?!_ " He demanded, to which she only shrugged and locked her hands behind her back before striding across the sand to watch the tide rise.

The others were silent while Paul slowly slipped off of the pier and skipped after her.

" _...They gave you gas?_ " Dwayne asked, scratching the side of his chin and chuckling.

Marko stared after the pair walking away together and tried to formulate a plan to deal with Michael whenever he decided to take his rev-" _ **AGH!**_ "

He'd been too busy talking and thinking to realize Michael had finished his meal. Didn't even see him coming when the brunette dive-bombed him and knocked Marko off the side of the pier with a snarl. David and Dwayne clapped, cheering him on.

Claws flashed in the moonlight, Marko's pristine except for the yellowish tinge from poor nail-care, and Michael's already doused in blood from his meal. Marko hissed, planting his feet on the younger vampire's chest and giving him a good shove, sending Michael flying a few feet. Just enough time for him to recover and launch himself into the air, when he felt two hands wrapping around his curled braids, giving him a good yank and pulling him back down to the sand with a yelp.

"You really should cut your fucking hair," Michael taunted, and it was really...embarrassing how quickly he had Marko pinned to the sand with fangs planted in his neck. Not moving or causing any kind of a scar, but they would if Marko continued to struggle. God damn it, he'd never win one of these stupid fights! Not even with a fucking baby! It was almost as bad as...when Star and Paul... _god damn it_...

Pulling up, Michael licked his fangs and gave Marko one good punch in his shoulder before climbing to his feet, "stop fucking with me, Marko. I mean it."

Marko glared up at him, rubbing his sore shoulder, "yeah, yeah...whatever," he pouted, sitting up and shaking the sand from his braids. He'd just gotten his ass kicked by a guy who hadn't even been a vampire for a whole month. Yeah, his pride was not in the best shape right now. What's more, it didn't look like anyone was passing any money or making any disappointed sighs.

"Who won?" Marko called up to David and Dwayne on the pier. They both simply shrugged.

"We all did...princess," David laughed, taking a pull from his cigarette as Marko angrily narrowed his eyes and kicked a beer bottle under the pier. The lifeless bodies propped up on their sides, drenched in their own blood...simply stared at him. And he could swear it was like they were laughing too.

* * *

Okay, so Mike told him to tell mom. He would. Eventually, when he was thirty-five...he would definitely tell her. For now, as he crept in through the backdoor, Sam was confident she'd understand if he said his friend had dropped him off back home after she went to bed, because it turned out they didn't really need to study that much after all. And if Mike told before Sam was ready...he'd get to that when it happened. For now, Sam really didn't want to have another 'my son doesn't respect me or deserve my trust' moment. Plus, he was still grounded...he didn't need to be double grounded, too.

Sneaking through the darkened house, Sam nearly screamed when he found himself stumbling into something very large and soft at the foot of the stairs.

"Get offa me!" Grandpa Emerson shouted, shoving Sam to the ground and reaching up to flip on the stair lights he'd installed the past summer.

Uh-oh...

"Hmph," the old man snorted, sitting up and taking a gulp of root beer from the bottle he'd nearly spilled while Sam was busy tripping over him. The teenager stared up at his grandfather, wide-eyed and silent.

"Got a call tonight. Farkas said you was doing a good job...then some crazy kid you knew showed up and started spying on him."

"...Yes. Yes, that maybe happened." Sam nodded.

"Mind telling me what that was about? Maybe it involve those smelly kids you're always bringing over?"

"They've been following me, grandpa."

The old man squinted, taking a gulp of soda, "if that boy seen anything, just ignore it. Farkas got it in his head these days...actually, he's always got it in his head that he needs to do real funny things to get in the minds of the things he hunts. He's into big game, too. You just remember that, and don't get any fancy ideas if you happen to see or hear about whatever it is your friend says he saw, you understand?"

Sam wrinkled his nose, confused. Funny things? From his crazy taxidermist grandpa, that was definitely a scary thought. If the old man thought something was 'funny'...he could only imagine how bad it probably had to be.

"Trust me. I wouldn'ta got that job for you if I didn't trust Farkas with my life. He's old. He's ugly. Maybe sometimes he's even a bit of a grumpy old son of a bitch," Grandpa Emerson continued to chatter, scratching at his bristled cheek. Grumpy old son of a bitch? Sam wondered if his grandpa ever looked in the mirror.

"Look...what I'm trying to tell you is this...you see anything, you just look the other way. No matter what it is. Don't think about it. Don't tell your ma. Ignore it, and ignore whatever it is your smelly friends try to tell you the next time they see you. And tell them to stay away from Farkas...he ain't too fond of their family. I didn't even tell him who they was, cause I know how he feels about them. You got it?"

"Yeah...yeah grandpa, I got it..." Sam nodded quickly. Then he stretched his arms above his head and let out a very loud (and very forced) yawn, "oh man...it is LATE. I'm so glad my friend's mom dropped me off after our study-"

"Don't lie to me, boy. You went to see your brother tonight, cause you got it in your head you should be doing stupid things, now that you know what's out there. Well, let me tell you something...you don't know the half of it. If you get yourself hurt again, I probably won't be there. And if your brother's even around, he might not even save you. So this is my only warning, Samuel. You straighten up, and you do it _now_."

"H-how did you-"

The old man tapped the side of his nose and snorted. "Told you before. I can smell death. Take a shower and go to bed. Tomorrow you're gonna tell Lucy what you did tonight, too," and with that, Grandpa Emerson stood up, and climbed up the stairs. Sam was left dumbfounded on the floor, wondering if the crazy old man had some mind powers of his own.


	12. Chapter 12: Sam's Dream

Author's note: If you're curious about what song WAS playing when Dwayne got electrocuted/shot with an arrow, it was Good Times, by INXS. I think it's like the 1st track on the OST.

* * *

Lucy sat up in bed, fumbling around for the lamp switch on her bedside table. She could swear she'd just heard someone coming upstairs...she paused right before she clicked the light on and used her free hand to reach for her revolver in the drawer of the table...when the sound stopped. Blinking several times, she squinted in the darkness of her bedroom and listened. She waited and strained to hear anything, any movement or creaks in the hallway...so long that her eyes burned in the darkness for lack of blinking. Then, slowly, she closed the drawer and settled back in bed. It was probably dad, she decided. Up late grabbing a drink from downstairs...if anyone had broken in, it would have been a lot louder.

Staring up at the ceiling, she watched the details of the fresh white stucco slowly appear as her eyes adjusted. Then, with a sigh, she reached over to turn the lamp on anyway so she could grab her bottle of Valium and a half-empty glass of water she always kept handy. Something to soothe her nerves. It seemed like she could keep a pharmacy open, as tightly-strung as she'd felt lately. Lucy couldn't honestly remember a consecutive week she hadn't relied on her little helper in over two tears. Honestly, the last time she'd slept without them had probably been when they all lived back in Arizona, safe from make-believe monsters...or what she thought was make-believe.

At least she could rest easy knowing that the worst of it all was finally over. Sam was acting normal. Michael was back, in a manner of speaking. Who knew? Maybe some day soon, she'd be able to forego the pills, and learn to relax again on her own.

* * *

David remained silent outside of Lucy's bedroom door, smirking privately to himself while he fidgeted with an unlit cigarette in his hands. The smoke and smell would be a dead give-away, and he wasn't too hot on waking anyone up right now. Dwayne stood silently behind him, arms crossed while he waited impatiently for David to make a move. This would have been a lot easier if Sam's window didn't have prison bars and a lock on it now. Faster, too. But maybe it was better this way. They got to really see the changes made around the house since the last time they'd swung by for a little pow-wow. It was like they'd never been there at all. Dwayne almost resented how little of an impression they'd left on the place, besides a lingering aura of unease and the resilient scent of Paul's blood clinging to the bathroom and kitchen. You could never scrub that out, no matter how hard you tried. And when Dwayne passed the spot the stereo used to be, he could swear he tasted copper and sour metal in his mouth. Memories could be a hell of a drug.

 _"You sure you want to hang around for this?"_ David asked, slowly turning the knob on Sam's bedroom door and leaning close to listen to the sound of heavy breaths. The kid was already having a bad dream, apparently. Not nearly as bad as what they had planned, though. They were going to give the Frogs a scare too, but Michael's little brother was in for something worse. Sort of a 'comes around goes around' deal.

 _"Can't get the full effect if I don't,"_ Dwayne replied as they slipped into the bedroom. The others were waiting outside on the lawn, playing poker to pass the time. They'd all agreed it would be best if Michael didn't get in on this one...he might back out or try to convince David to ease back if he'd joined in. At this point, he was still frustrated enough to be perfectly fine with staying out of it as long as he didn't see Sam's reaction.

 _"Hey, I never asked you what was playing when you got..."_ David made a gesture with his thumb, drawing it across his neck as he crossed the room to prop himself up on Sam's desk and tuck his cigarette between his lips. No sign of the dog anywhere. Probably sleeping with the old man. Good; one less detail to worry about.

" _I was a little too busy getting fried. Why don't you ask Michael? He might remember. Who knows? Maybe it got him pumped up before he ran you through, huh?_ " Dwayne replied, scratching idly at the spot on his chest where the arrow had pinned him. It would take a good decade or two for him to get over it. Yeah, Michael's little brother definitely wasn't ever going to get on his good side for that one.

" _You ready?_ " David asked, leaning forward as Dwayne sat at the edge of the bed and glared down at Sam with more than a little bit of venom in his gaze.

 _"Yeah. You remember what I told you?"_

 _"Trust me. I'm a professional. Couple of burns and I'd give that little bitch on Elm Street a run for his money,"_ David grinned around his still unlit cigarette.

* * *

Sam really hated leaving Phoenix. Hated the fact that he was going to have to start over in a place he'd only been once when his grandma died, and even then hadn't stopped by to find out just how shitty the place he'd be living was. No TV, for Christ's sake! How could anyone live without TV? It was inhuman. It was...it was monstrous. Kinda like Mike...wait, no...he frowned, scratching the back of his head. Mike wasn't a monster. Where had that thought come from? He paused mid-step on the boardwalk as his brother parted ways with him to go drop a couple of bucks on some stupid jacket he'd been eyeing. As if it wasn't obvious what Mike was trying to do.

Things felt kinda funny tonight. Unreal. Kinda creepy. He shouldn't be out this late, should he? No...mom had given him a lift, so that couldn't be right. Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun before summer was up. He was probably just freaking out after all that weird stuff those guys back at the comic shop told him. About vampires.

Besides, they didn't get everything right. He didn't think garlic was really that much of a weapon against them. But wait...no...they didn't exist...

"Hey, Sammy!" Michael called out, waving in the crowd. He got his jacket. Funny, he'd pierced his ear too...wow, Mike must really like that chick. He'd always made fun of Sam's stud, said it made him look like a girl.

"Mike?" Sam picked up his feet and jogged through the fading crowd. One-by-one, it was like people were popping out of existence around him. Until it was just him and his brother, standing several feet away from each other, and in the distance...there were those punks on their bikes, and the girl Mike was into...waiting for Michael to go with them.

"Sammy, I've got something cool to show you," Michael grinned, and it was kind of creepy...his teeth looked really sharp. Too sharp. Had he been filing them? Mom was going to have a freak-out if she saw that. What the hell was wrong with him? Mike must've been taking the move from Phoenix even harder. There's no way he'd pull a stunt like that if he was in his right mind.

"What do you wanna show me, Mike?" Sam asked warily, tempted to step back...but finding his feet just didn't want to listen. In fact, they pulled him forward, and it was starting to scare him. What was going on?!

"Something cool. Come on, Sammy!" Michael insisted, reaching forward to grab Sam's hand and yank him closer. Soon they were both running together towards the punks on their bikes. And more and more, Sam wanted to fight back. He didn't want to go with Mike! He wanted to go home!

The wood beneath their feet melted into sand, and the sand shifted beneath them until it was solid rock...then Sam found himself being drug into a cave. A cave he recognized, from some distant memory that just wanted to wriggle out of his grasp like a lamprey. He shouldn't be here. He wasn't wanted here. This was where all of his troubles started. This was where he'd lost his brother...no, what? He hadn't lost Mike Mike was still with him. Sam looked up at his brother, only to find he was completely alone...surrounded by burning oil drums...he turned to go back, but there was no exit. He was trapped...trapped amidst the dancing flames and a rank smell piercing his nose. The smell of death, rust, blood, smoke, rot, and so much more.

He fell to the ground with a terrified squeak, drawing his knees up to his chest and trying to bury his face in them. If he just tried hard enough, concentrated, he was sure he could make this all go away. Everything would be back to normal. Mike would be back to normal. They'd be back in Phoenix, and somehow dad wouldn't be a massive asshole anymore. Mom would be happy. He'd have MTV, and life would be perfect...like it was supposed to be. Like it should have stayed.

A vicious whisper pierced through his thoughts, "maggots, Michael. You're eating maggots. How do they taste?"

Sam jerked up and found himself in the same place, but through the burning oil barrels he saw his brother and the rest of them, sitting together in the center of the room, eating food from take-out cartons, while Mike spat out the contents of one of them on the ground.

He silently watched the scene play out until Star stood up, and whispered to Michael..."don't. You don't have to, Michael."

The others were chanting his brother's name, and Sam was screaming to him now, begging him not to drink from the weird bottle David had brought out. That was his name, right? David?

"It's blood," Star whispered.

"Don't fucking drink it, you dumbass!" Sam shouted, and this time his voice finally broke through. All eyes were drawn towards him, and Michael lowered the bottle.

"What're you doing here, Sam?" Michael asked, frowning. "You don't belong here."

"Mike, I'm your brother! Don't drink it! Just come home, we can all go back to normal, everything can be like it used to be! Don't drink the blood!"

Michael snorted, lifting the bottle to his lips, using the same sardonic half-smirk Sam recognized, the one that told him he could go fuck off, "yeah... _sure_. Blood."

"Glad you're here, kid," David shouted in Sam's direction, waving to him. Meanwhile, Michael looked like he'd checked out, leaning back against the weird fountain he was sitting on, drinking from that bottle like it was a lifeline...deaf to the world, and the laughter, and grating music pumping out of a beat-up stereo by Paul's side.

Sam's feet moved again, still doing whatever the hell they wanted even though he tried to get them to stop, and the oil barrels seemed to draw away when he found himself in the very center of the group while they all seemed to draw close to him. He heard a loud clatter when the bottle Mike was drinking from sailed across the room and smashed into the cave wall, bits of glass and metal sparkling in the dim light as they flew in a thousand different directions.

"Wh...why are you glad I'm here?" Sam whimpered, feet finally frozen into place. He knew what they were. He knew what they all were. Nothing was going back to normal, because Mike was like them. He was _one_ of them. He really wasn't Sam's real brother anymore. Just the memory of a brother...the real Michael was dead...and he wasn't coming back to protect Sam.

The first hand that lashed out to grab him wasn't Michael's, but Dwayne's...the freaky quiet one. The one he thought he'd killed.

"We're hungry," he rasped in Sam's face, face shifting into the same monstrous mask they all had. Even Mike, who didn't seem to care too much that he was about to _die_.

"Please, please, please...I'll never go out after dark again. I'll stay away. I'll stop bugging Mike when he doesn't want to see me. I'll be good. I promise. I promise!" Sam tried to shout through the hand digging into his neck, and he could feel sharp claws pinching at the flesh, scraping and piercing it until his blood was trailing down across his shoulders, seeping into his clothes.

"You know something? That's your whole problem," David drawled, throwing an arm around Dwayne's shoulder and leaning forward to grin at Sam. "You think you can pretty much get away with anything if you just do a bit of begging, then give Michael over there the puppy dog eyes," he nodded towards Sam's brother, who stood with his arms crossed, looking just as amused and hungry as the rest of them. Didn't even care that Sam was about to end up as their mid-evening snack.

David was getting warmed up now, his voice dropping into a feral pitch, as if he could barely hold on much longer before they dug in, "the thing is...you got three strikes, because I'm a nice guy. First one was when you thought you could take what's mine," he nodded towards Michael, "still kinda sore about that one. Everything you did that night really should have counted for way more than just one strike...but like I said, I'm a nice guy."

Yeah...nice. Somehow, Sam couldn't quite agree with that one. He was on the verge of tears now, could almost feel the skin peeling away from the claws still digging into him...and the circle drew even closer, Star included. She didn't seem to mind the fact that they'd just tricked Michael into downing a shit-sucker blood cocktail anymore.

"Second strike was when you got our place trashed. And don't give me any shit about 'why', because whatever stupid plan you had in mind didn't work. You fucked us over, your brother included. You fucked Michael, kid. What kinda little brother does that make you, huh? I'd say it makes you a pretty shitty one, if you ask me." David leaned forward to cup Sam's chin between two clawed fingers, and he tried not to draw away...knew he'd just pull back with nothing but bone and bleeding globs of shredded muscle on the bottom half of his face if he tried.

"Third strike was tonight. You showed up thinking you could just have us take care of your personal problem with your little friends, and I'm pretty sure you got more than a few warnings not to bug us or go out at night. But you...you just don't listen, do you?" Dwayne's claws slowly withdrew from Sam's shoulders and he trailed bloody fingers up towards Sam's ears, pressing his thumbs against sensitive tissue, as if he was going to cut them off or carve his eardrums out like plums from a fresh pie.

David growled, "no more warnings. You got that? I never want to see you again, unless it's when I'm swinging around to pick Mikey up. Even if it's an accident, or an issue of life and death, we see you again...that's it. You're dead." David licked his lips, grin growing even wider, "by the way...why do you think I like to keep Michael so close, huh? Why do you think we've let you live this long? Use your imagination. I haven't seen any evidence yet, but I've heard you can be a pretty smart kid."

Sam wanted to gag, horrified, disgusted, confused...there were way too many things for him to even begin to focus on one. So he just settled on terror. That one made the most sense right now. He'd focus on the implications about David and Michael later. Didn't even think he'd want to focus on it, if he used a bit of extra energy to repress that piece of unwanted information.

"I...is that all?" Sam asked hopefully, wringing his hands together and biting at his bottom lip. He could barely breathe now, from the fear, and the pressure of the group pressing even closer...no room to run, no room to struggle.

"Yeah, sure. Dwayne, why don't you give him a wake-up call?" David pulled away from the darker-haired vampire with a chuckle, and Sam felt fangs digging deep into his neck...pulling him out of his dreams.

* * *

There were no fangs in his neck. Only two claws pressing down against his jugular...dark hair tickling his face. Sam's eyes snapped open, and there was no missing those horrible glowing eyes in the dark. A hand was slammed over his mouth, the dark laughter of David and Dwayne mingling in the air.

"Get the message?" Dwayne whispered, lips pulled back and fangs dripping with saliva to match his image in the dream.

Sam fainted dead away.

The vampire climbed off of the youngest Emerson's bed and straightened his jacket while he stood. "You think it worked?" He looked over at David, who was busy tearing up papers and scraps of miscellaneous school assignments.

"Yeah. Maybe." David shrugged with a yawn, "and if it didn't...well, he's got no one to blame but himself."

Dwayne crossed to Sam's bedroom window and reached out to grip at the bars. He gave one good yank, and they were torn from the wall and window, "honestly...I almost hope it didn't work. It'd almost be worth a headache with Michael, later."

"Speak for yourself," David grimaced, lighting his cigarette. Fuck it. He'd smoke wherever the hell he wanted. They were leaving now, anyway. No chance of waking the old lady now.

As they climbed out of the window, Marko and Paul shouted up to them.

"Hey! Did it work?" Marko's shrill giggle, right before dropping a full house on the grass.

"Can we play with the Froggies on our next stop?!" Paul added, even more excited as he dropped a fuller house. One extra card.

"Paul, you dick, it's five cards, not six!" Michael scoffed, flicking Paul's cards up with a claw and dropping his own even fuller house. Seven.

Star, unsurprisingly, had the fullest house of all with a whopping eight cards. It made them all wonder how many extra decks the others apparently carried around with them just to screw up a good poker game.


	13. Chapter 13: Cattle Prod

Author's notes: I think Rick Baker did some of the COOLEST stuff on-screen any werewolf treatment has ever had. He was a consultant for the Howling, too. He's done a lot of awesome stuff. Did effects on Cursed, too...listen, my point is, I envision a werewolf looking like the ones in Howling. So if you wanted my mental image, that's the one I'm going with.

* * *

Paul crawled through the living room window, suppressing a cackle as he began to warm up to a few ideas he'd been working on for the Frog brothers' dreams, " _oh, I got a good one! Spiders...huge spiders with their mom's face, crawling all over them and right up their-_ "

He was abruptly cut off when Marko grabbed the back of his leg and yanked him outside in favor of crawling through the window first...and when the smaller vampire's legs were just barely sliding past the pane, Paul grabbed one of his ankles to bite into it. Marko hissed back at him and almost kicked Paul in the face, and once they were both inside, scuffling on the carpet, Paul's idea was temporarily forgotten in favor of a little home destruction.

" _I'd rather not have to picture that, Paul,_ " David shook his head, flopping down into an easy chair in the darkened room, kicking his feet up and pushing it back so he could recline. It was pretty comfy...maybe he should figure out a way to bring it back to the cave. A thinly-veiled threat in the dreams, maybe? Ah...but then they'd have to come to the hotel, and there was no way he wanted these two sniveling idiots back there. He'd sooner just kill them and have every single annoyance in Santa Carla out of his hair for good. And there was no way he wanted to fly across the skyline carrying a ratty recliner. Somehow he doubted he'd strike much fear in the hearts of anyone who saw him doing it, either.

" _Nice digs,_ " Marko whistled, reaching out to grab a rolled-out sock on the ground that had ended up beneath a small table with a lamp beside David's chair of choice, then jamming the sock in Paul's mouth. He screamed into the musty confines of the deadly fungus trap, trying to scrape and peel the cloth from his mouth, shredding it in the process.

"Ugh!" Paul dry heaved, picking off small pieces of yellowish-white sock and using his jacket sleeve to wipe at his tongue. " _Fuck, Marko, that's like biological warfare! I...think I'm seeing spots...I'm fading fast!_ "

Snickering, the smaller vampire hopped up and threw himself at a patchy couch just across from David, shoes scraping on the coffee table in the process and kicking of a half-empty and fully-curdled glass of old milk. "We should start calling them the Pig brothers," he snorted, laying down and kicking up his heels while Paul stood beside David's chair still picking at linty scraps in his mouth.

" _I think that thing was there so long, it was dry rotting_ ," Paul grouched, glaring over at a very pleased Marko. Revenge was best served cold. He'd get the little imp back eventually.

" _Girls, you can practice kissing later. You need to hurry up and settle on a plan,_ " David sighed, clasping his gloved hands over his stomach and relaxing even further into the chair. Now that he was getting comfortable with his surroundings, he let his senses explore the place. Nothing moving too much, but he could hear the foundation settling and some leaky pipes protesting near the attic. They'd probably rupture in a month or two. Rats scurrying in the kitchen. Three people breathing comfortably, asleep, and one...person? He frowned, focusing in on the breathing pattern of that not-quite-person. Not dead. Definitely not one of them...or he wouldn't hear the breathing at all. There would _be_ no breathing. Not quite a normal animal or human either. But he wasn't learning much this way. One quick look back and forth between Marko and Paul, and the playful air in the room dissipated.

He hadn't expected something like this. Not here, anyway. Something new. When they'd first arrived, after Michael gave them the address (because he could still remember bringing his brother here a few times before he and Star blew town), there'd been a very odd smell. And a sense that a lot of blood had been spilled here...but those weren't uncommon feelings in Santa Carla. Hell, he and the boys had done most of the bloodshed, after all. And honestly, he'd chalked the weird smell up to that peculiar essence of Frog. But now that he was paying more attention, he realized it was even stronger than them. Not so much a corn-chippy, dirt, and mushroom pie combo...more like...a dog. But...that didn't really seem to gel, either. Close...but not quite.

" _Might have to hold off on dealing with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Numb-nuts,_ " David sighed, standing up. " _I think I might have found something even funner._ "

* * *

It was pretty sparse, as far as bedrooms went. Two small cots on the ground, one of them occupied by a middle-aged flower child in the purest sense of the word: long hair, wearing sunglasses even while she slept, a daisy headband wrapped around her head, dirt under her nails, and not a scrap of clothing on...

" _Yikes. Hair city. I guess winter came early_ ," Marko whistled, giving the woman a once-over. She stirred in her sleep, reaching over to the cot opposite her and pulling a thin blanket around her body with a soft sigh. They were thankfully saved the prolonged sight of her cesarean scars and stretch marks.

Besides that, what they really should have been more focused on when they first walked in, a very large and twisted hairy shape huddled just beside an old radiator against the bedroom window, chained and wrapped several times around it, while the thing quivered and shook in it's sleep.

"Dude...the fuck is that?" Paul actively wondered aloud. Didn't need to worry about waking anyone up. The flower child looked stoned enough to scare Medusa.

" _I think we found the source of that smell_ ," David mused with a private smirk.

Marko edged closer to the hairy shape, eyes scanning over the room one more time. Nothing much else in there besides a cardboard dresser, a couple of satin pillows lining a wall, and something lying near the cots...a cattle prod?

" _Kinky! I think I'm starting to like this family_ ," he snickered as he bit the thumb of his glove and nudged the hairy thing with the tip of his shoe. It stirred and whined, slinging it's own feet out unexpectedly and nearly knocking him to the ground.

MArko yelped, catching himself just in time, " _okay...maybe not_ ," he growled, giving the hairy thing a good _hard_ kick. It whined again and remained immobile, huddling closer to the radiator. For what appeared to be some kind of monster, it certainly didn't seem to have much fight in it. What a let-down.

Paul crouched to the ground, creeping towards the woman on the cot, as he scooped up a cattle prod lying beside her. Looked like it was nearly burnt out. "What do you think's going on?"

David shrugged, crossing towards the thing on the ground and shoving Marko out of the way. " _Dunno. Either the latter half of a wild party, or...well...I think I found something funner to do than give those dumbasses sweet dreams,_ " he leaned down and gripped at the chains around the radiator. A few good yanks, and small bits of silver-ish metal clattered to the ground around him, while a layer of chains fell away. He then knelt over to grip the thing by it's neck and drag it out. That seemed to rouse it a bit, because soon he found himself looking down into half-lidded red eyes.

"Wakey, wakey," David whispered, dragging it to the bedroom window and dropping it to the ground. Now that it wasn't huddled in a ball anymore, they were able to get a much better look. Claws drumming on the pane, he glanced back over his shoulder at Paul and Marko. They were standing right behind him now, and they didn't have to ask if he had anything in mind. Of course he did. This was just too sweet to pass up.

" _Pauley, you got anything we can use?_ " David quirked an eyebrow.

The rocker vampire cackled, ignoring the woman who stirred softly in her sleep behind them. _Nothing_ short of insanity was waking that burn-out. He dug his hands into his coat pockets and pulled them out to reveal two small plastic baggies packed with rainbows. " _Take your pick...got a sunshine cocktail ready-to-go._ "

David eyed his options thoughtfully, tapping a finger on his chin, " _surprise me. I've always wondered what happened when a werewolf gets fucked up._ "

" _Guess we're about to find out!_ " Marko bobbed on his heels, plans for the dream completely forgotten now. This was _way_ better.

* * *

Michael leaned against his bike, arms crossed. The wind was beginning to pick up...smelled like it was going to rain. Again. " _How much longer do you think-_ "

There was a loud _**CRASH**_ , followed by a **_BANG_** and a woman screaming bloody murder. He really wished he could say he was surprised, but honestly...from what he'd seen so far...anything involving Paul and Marko at the same time didn't seem like it could ever end quietly. He didn't even bother trying to feel guilty for whatever it was they'd just done in there. Not that he would, even if he could.

"You about ready to go?" He called out towards the trio as they came into view scrambling out of a window at the side of the house.

Two more sets of screams had joined the first one, followed by a piercing howl. What the hell was going on in there?! Damn. Maybe he should've tagged along.

Star covered her ears and closed her eyes, " _do I even want to know?_ " She glared over at Paul moodily. Hadn't really been too hot on this whole plan. Couldn't see why they didn't just cut off an ear or something to drive their point home. It would be a lot more effective than a bad dream. In her opinion, that was the only real way they'd learn anything.

" _We found a puppy. Wanted to see if it liked playing...guess it didn't_ ," Paul cackled as he slid onto his bike and jerked at Star's arm to pull her on behind him.

David drew up beside Michael with a smug little grin, clapping him on the shoulder, " _hey...why don't you check up on your little bro tomorrow? Make sure there's no hard feelings, huh?_ "

Michael quirked an eyebrow. He could easily glean the translation there. Whatever had just happened tonight was probably going to be news at the Emerson doorstep tomorrow. That was the only reason David would ever be happy to send him off to see his family. It was no secret how the others felt about them. Especially Sam, the way they'd been all too happy to torture him with just a tiny bit of urging. He honestly hated to admit it, but a tiny part of Michael found it a little funny, too. Maybe it was his nature. Maybe it was just the consequence of being an older brother. Most likely, a combination.

Dwayne leaned forward, sniffing at the air, _"you three smell funny. That's not a dog in there, is it?"_

 _"...define 'dog',"_ Marko smirked, climbing onto his bike. Just then, a hairy form burst through the front door of the house, sending wood splinters and metal flying before it took off into a patch of trees, stumbling and foaming at the mouth as it went. Soon after, a naked woman with a cattle prod followed, waving an arm and crying out.

Michael squinted, rubbing at his temples and blinking into the darkness, unsure exactly what he was seeing, "o _kay, so...did that just happen, or am I still a little high?_ "

And finally, Ed and Alan were stumbling outside onto their porch, no light but the full moon hovering above them to see by. Alan had a book in his hand, and he was tearing out pages in great chunks while he screamed and cursed, stomping on the shredded pages and grinding them beneath his heels. Not too effective in bunny slippers, but it got a message across.

"ALAN! THOSE ARE OUR BUSINESS PLANS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Edgar howled, trying to wrestle the book from his brother's grasp.

" _Guess that's our cue to leave,_ " David chuckled, kicking his engine to life. Now Michael _really_ regretted staying outside.


	14. Chapter 14: Stalling

Author's notes: Okay. Maybe I went a little overboard with the cattle prod bit in the last chapter. But...all I can say in my defense is this - I regret NOTHING. Y'know, I was trying to think of a concept for an LB story this morning to make fun of the Mary-Sue thing...but I think Falcon's was so perfect, I didn't really want to bother. Still, I did think it would be funny if it started with Mike, Sam, Lucy, and a sister (Hope or Dawn or something like that) character coming to Santa Carla in the beginning, just for Sam to lean towards Michael and ask him 'hey...Mike...I know this sounds crazy, but...I...don't remember us even having a sister...'

* * *

Lucy yawned against the back of her hand, squinting out across the yard as she nestled into her wicker chair, content to spend that Sunday afternoon with nothing to worry about but the twists and turns of a good book. Thankfully, she'd finally managed to work her way through Frankenstein, the end of that story couldn't have come soon enough. Lucy Emerson was no horror fan. Classic or otherwise. Truth, after all, was stranger than fiction. She'd seen enough horror in recent years to last her a lifetime.

She might have spent the rest of her day off enjoying Danielle Steele, except for the very strange feeling that she was being watched nagging at the back of her mind. Lucy sighed, lowering her book and glancing towards the front door. She could just barely discern a figure on the other side of the screen peering at her and shifting from foot to foot.

"Sam? Honey, I thought you were out studying...or...shouldn't you be at Mr. Farkas's place by now?" Lucy frowned and placed the book on the small table beside her chair. It was almost one in the afternoon, and she hadn't even known he was home. Hadn't seen a car pulling up, and definitely hadn't seen him come downstairs for breakfast.

"I came home last night," he replied quietly and pushed the screen door open, stepping outside. He was still in his pajamas.

"Honey, you're not going to get on that man's good side if you keep going to his house late," she admonished softly. She didn't require her son to have a job. He was still in high school. But it was a little concerning how little he seemed to care about keeping promises and schedules. Not a good sign if he made it a permanent habit. On the bright side, it was better than falling in with what could only be described as the absolute _worst_ possible crowd...like Michael.

"I called in," Sam replied quietly, sliding up against the side of the wall with his hands clasped and pressed behind his back. Avoiding eye contact. She sighed, knowing very well what that sort of behavior meant.

"Okay, Sam. Out with it. What did you do?"

"Let's pause a bit mom. Take a breath and _really think_ about that question." He took a breath and pushed himself away from the wall, spreading his hands as he warmed up to his speech, "what do any of us do, when we get right down to it? Life is all about doing things and not doing things. It's a journey. A winding road of possibilities. And, after all, how many roads must a man walk-"

"Sam. _Stop it_. Tell me what you did. If I wanted to get a lecture from Bob Dylan, I'd turn on the record player," she said sternly, leaning forward in her chair and settling her hands over her splayed knees. This was going to be bad. The longer Sam tended to stall when he confessed to anything, the worse the crime. The more clever his stalling tactics, the more it worried her. At least when Michael was younger and a bit easier to control, he'd always been fairly straight-forward. The many trials of having a second son too smart for his own good and not quite smart enough to avoid getting himself into trouble.

"Mom. I did something...very bad."

"How bad?"

"Let's just say...in the great scheme of things, when one man must make a choice for the greater good, and-"

"Sam!"

"Alright, alright! I was getting to it. I swear...I really was, mom. I really was getting-"

"...Sam."

"Mom. I promise you I'm about to tell you what I did. This isn't easy. It's really tough. I'm scared, okay? I'm scared."

"Of what? Of me?!" She looked up at him, astonished. As if she'd ever raised a hand on him in his _life_!

"No..." Sam looked down at his feet and then back up at her...and then up at the ceiling. His eyes pretty much roamed just about everywhere they could, as long as they didn't have to focus for longer than a second. Lucy was getting tired.

"Samuel Emerson, if you don't tell me what you did right now, I promise you I'll make your punishment twice as bad. No matter what you did. So tell me. NOW."

And somehow, as if by an insane twist of irony, or simply because Sam really had been stalling long enough, the phone rang inside.

"I'LL GET IT!" Sam shouted, practically screamed, tearing off back into the house, and leaving Lucy dumbfounded. Well, at least he'd admitted he'd definitely done something wrong. She pressed a hand against her temple and stood up from the chair. If Sam did anything, the evidence was likely in his room. She hadn't seen any of his underwear in the wash recently either, so she figured she might as well check on his dirty clothes and start a load while she was snooping. It would be nice if she'd found out the straight-forward way, but this would just have to do.

Really, what could be so bad that he'd be freaking out this much about it? He'd pretty much reached the limit of what he could possibly do to upset her, and the monster responsible for that mess was (from what she gathered) dead now. Sam had probably just stained one of her good towels, or something else so unbelievably silly that she'd be too busy laughing at it to get mad at him. The more she thought about this as she headed inside and passed her son in the kitchen to gather a laundry basket, the firmer that conviction became. It almost made her feel like things had finally gone back to normal.

* * *

Alan wiped a shaking hand over his sweaty brow, clutching the phone tightly to his ear. Edgar was in the living room, pouting. Trapped in his whole little small box, unable or unwilling to face facts. They'd both screwed up _big_ time, and now mom and dad got caught in the crossfire. That old man he'd been spying on...he was a werewolf. And he _knew_ Alan had figured it out, or been on the verge. So he must have found out where they lived, transformed, eaten dad, and decided to come after them. He just couldn't understand exactly why mom had chased the thing outside...or why she still wasn't back. The only explanation he could come up with...she had to be dead.

There were other little things he still hadn't quite pieced together. The lack of blood, for one. Or why they'd been left alive, unless it was just their punishment for sticking their noses in places they didn't belong. He didn't even know why he was bothering, but he knew the only thing he really could do right now was call the one person on the planet who might possibly help them, if he was _just willing_ to talk it out. Even given what had happened on the beach, or with the vampire surfers, and the many little things they'd both done to make Sam's life (admittedly) a miniature living hell...he _owed_ them. He _owed_ them for helping to at least save him and his mom from becoming the 'Bloodsucking Brady Bunch'.

It seemed like the phone rang for ages. Maybe nobody was going to pick up. God, he hoped that wasn't the case. If they didn't get any help, it was very possible the old man monster would come back _tonight_ to finish what he started...

"Hello?"

"Oh god...oh thank god...oh god..."

"Alan? Alan, what do you want?" Well, he didn't sound pissed off anymore. That was a good sign.

"Sam. Listen. Please don't hang up. I've gotta tell you something...something big." Alan twisted the phone chord around his finger nervously, pressing it closer to his ears when he heard Edgar shuffling in the living room and straightening furniture. The house really was a war zone now. Not as bad as the Emerson's place had been before they'd helped fix it up, but definitely worse than they'd ever seen it before.

For a solid ten seconds, the line was silent, and Alan thought he'd hung up. But there was no click or dial tone...

"Alan, I'm sorry. If it was a bad dream, that was my fault. But I had one of my own, and I know I shouldn't have done it. Even if you're both jerks...and even if you've both almost managed to ruin my life a dozen different times...I'm really sorry."

"What?" Alan asked, confused. Sam wasn't making any sense. "No. I didn't have any dreams last night. Sam...your boss is a werewolf, and I think he killed our parents. And look, yeah, I know it sounds like I'm just coming up with some dumb idea to get you to hang out with us again...but I promise I'm not. We need your help. There's still a chance mom's alive out there somewhere, but I don't think we can do this alone."

* * *

" _Do you have to go with me tonight? Do you honestly still think I'm going to try to make a break for it?_ " Michael demanded as he climbed onto his bike. This babysitting shtick with David was starting to get on his nerves. They all knew where he was going. _He_ knew it would be dumb to spend the night. Hell, they hadn't gotten into an argument in two days! That had to be some kind of record. To top it off, he'd even given up bickering about their sleeping arrangements.

David eyed him thoughtfully, clicking his tongue against one of his fangs. And if Michael needed to breathe, he would have been holding his breath. He shouldn't really care what David had to say about it. But...the fact that fighting anything his pack leader did seemed to inevitably lead into entirely different sorts of struggles...it was enough to persuade Michael to let things go more often than he would have before he'd turned. He couldn't honestly see himself ever being completely happy with this arrangement, but it was becoming disturbingly comfortable. A smaller part of him even actively admitted that the other parts...the parts that involved all that mating bullshit...if he wasn't pushed into it...that could almost be something he wouldn't mind either.

...and then David had to ruin his thought process by plastering on his smug grin. "Fuck, David, stop listening in on me like that!" Michael snapped aloud, immediately tempted to just ride off in a huff.

" _I can't help it,_ " David protested. " _You're loud._ "

" _Loud?! I'm LOUD?! That doesn't even make any-..._ " Michael trailed off, scowling. " _You're doing it again. You're trying to piss me off. I thought we agreed you wouldn't do that anymore._ "

" _Maybe when it's with the others, sure. I'm not a god damned saint. Get used to it._ " And with a flair, David seemed to pluck a cigarette from the air to tuck between his lips.

" _...so can I go alone this time, or what?_ "

" _Yeah. Sure. But...remember when you get back, you still owe me a favor. I think I want to collect on that tonight_."

Michael honestly didn't know how to react to that. But...could it really be any worse than anything David had already done to or made him do? Doubtful. " _Bring it,_ " he snorted in response, before driving away.


	15. Chapter 15: Hard Truths

Author's notes: So, maybe 3-4 more chapters to go after this for the story. Then I close the book. Because I feel like I've ridden this particular horse out long enough. Still, got a few more ideas up my sleeves to keep myself writing daily. And yes, they are Lost Boys fics. Why? Because I'm a madwoman! Also, figured I might try something from a different perspective. Maybe starting from a point in the middle of the film instead of a post-film story.

* * *

The first thing Michael noticed when he opened the door was the scent of red wine lingering in the air. It still amazed him how incredibly strong his senses were now, and he really was tempted to avoid following that smell to the source. Lucy was not usually a red wine drinker. She tended to stick with whites on the rare occasion she treated herself. Red wine was always a bad sign...it meant she was in a _very_ bad mood. As sweet, stressed, and unbelievably timid as his mom tended to be, that didn't stop things from getting really uncomfortable really fast when she wasn't happy. Even as a predator, he felt an even deeper instinct to cower still from the wrath of his mother, though Michael knew he couldn't be the direct cause. They'd hardly seen each other at all over the last week!

Maybe he could check on the old man and Sam first, see how they were doing. Michael did have a vague idea why Lucy was mad, at least. Sam must have come clean about his latest escapade to the boardwalk. He just had to hope his little brother didn't brink up whatever sick dream David and Dwayne had crafted together in order to keep him from pulling crazy stunts anymore. Because Michael had a definite feeling Lucy would direct half of her anger at him, too, if she learned about that little detail...shit...Sam probably told. The little prick. Classic younger brother tactic: deflection.

He forced himself not to focus on the inevitable thunderstorm of mini mom anger awaiting him in the kitchen, reasoned with himself that not only was he a bloodsucking creature of the night no longer at the mercy of groundings and ear pulling...but it was a little difficult.

Thankfully, or perhaps not so much...the sound of muffled shouting interrupted his thoughts. It was coming from grandpa's den. Fuck, what kind of mess had he just stumbled into tonight? Did David know about it? Was that why he'd practically guilted Michael into swinging by for a visit? Probably...honestly, it seemed like the only reason that would make sense. David and the others didn't go out of their way to make their opinions about his family a secret. They didn't like them.

Slipping across the house with feather-light steps, Michael managed to get close enough to the double doors of Grandpa Emerson's workshop to listen in on what had the old man so upset.

"No. Sam didn't have nothing to do with those fool kids breaking into your house tonight! He's in his room. Grounded. Yeah...no. No. No. Yes. You're not a cop, you don't have that kinda power. I thought I told you last time, Farkas, them kids is nothing more than just plain stupid. Yeah, I seen them on a full moon. No, they wasn't hairy, you nasty old son of a bitch! I can't help if you ain't seen her in thirty years, she ain't _my_ daughter. Well, figured you'd find out for yourself if they showed up again. Wasn't my business, neither. What?! _At this hour?_ I got a dog to stuff, I'm busy! Do it yerself! Then I guess you got a lotta catching up to do, don't ya?" The old man abruptly slammed his phone down. At least, that's what it sounded like. Then he slammed it again. Two more times. Three. WOW...yeah, Michael wasn't about to barge in _there_ for a friendly chat. Sounded like those Frog freaks had broken into someone's house, though. Those were the only 'friends' Sam had, that Michael knew about. And why wasn't he surprised grandpa seemed to have secrets about werewolves, too? How the hell was a guy like that the same man who raised his mom?

He shook his head. One drama too many, he was just swinging by to check up on Sam, in and out. That was all. If the Frogs had done something stupid, he really didn't give a shit. Seemed to him like they were living on borrowed time, though, the way they stuck their necks out like targets everywhere. But then again, they did apparently live with a werewolf, from what he was able to tell. The few clues and hints David and the others had dropped implied their mom was sleeping with one in her bedroom. And they hadn't mentioned the other burnout being anywhere around, so...fuck, must be their dad. How could you honestly live with something like that in your family and not know it? Recalling his grandpa's weird behavior, Michael realized he was answering his own question. Freaks were in every family. Some just...weirder than others...

"Sam?" Michael called out softly, trailing up the stairs and heading for his brother's bedroom. "Sam?" He called out a little louder, now that he was a bit further away from being seen by Lucy. No way he was going to confront her until he knew exactly what he was going to be dealing with.

* * *

Sam reclined on his bed, arm slung over his eyes. He still hadn't confronted mom about the truth, but in his defense...when she'd seen the window...she'd jumped to her own conclusions. And as furious as she was at him right now, having applied the forbidden 'bedroom for life' card, he felt now wasn't exactly the best time to reveal the rest of the truth about exactly how those bars had been ripped out of the wall and window. And if Mike didn't show up tonight, he figured he had at least 3, possibly 4 more days before that whole 'tell her or I will' threat came into play. He didn't even want to begin to think about the bullshit Alan had called him about. Sam refused to believe anything the Frog brother had said was more than just the product of a dream more elaborate than his own.

Then...he heard Mike outside of his bedroom door calling out to him. Sam squeaked, yanking his blanket over his head and huddling into a small, quivering ball. He hadn't forgotten the dream. Definitely hadn't forgotten the surprise waiting for him when he woke up. Hadn't forgotten how horrible Michael looked in his dream, like he didn't even give a shit if Sam lived or died.

"Go away!" Sam shouted out to his door, "I don't want to see you right now, asshole!"

There was a long pause, and then he heard a gentle scraping on the wood and the paint...

Sam catapulted off of his bed with his blanket nearly tangling up in his feet in the process, rushing to the door to yank it open. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" He yelped, looking at the area of his bedroom door that had been scratched down to the wood. Holy shit...now mom was really going to have it in for him...

"Hey, I just wanted to see what the old of layer paint before this one looked like," Michael replied dryly, picking flecks of white out of his claws. "Guess there wasn't one."

Sam stared at his brother in disbelief, examining his face. He _really_ didn't care. "So you think it's funny, huh?" Sam demanded, digging underneath his blanket he'd wrapped around his shoulders and his pajama shirt, grasping at the cross around his neck. "Is this funny, shit-sucker?!" He yanked the cross out and dangled it in front of his brother's face.

Michael snarled, covering his face and taking a step back, "calm down, you little dork! Jeeze!" He kept his eyes covered, and Sam stared in astonished disbelief at Michael's fangs that had descended.

"...You...you can't control your face when I've got one of these?" He asked, stepping forward a couple of inches and dangling the cross closer.

"Fucking stop!" Michael swiped out at Sam's arm, forcing him to drop the necklace.

"OW! MIKE!" Sam shouted, pulling his arm close and rubbing at his elbow. "Touchy, much?"

"That was like...shining a fucking strobe in my face, Sam! What the hell?!"

Sam shrugged, "I didn't know. Thought it had to touch you to do any damage..." He stepped back into his room, a little wary. Seeing his brother's reaction to the cross made him feel a little sick. He'd known there'd be come kind of reaction, but he'd had no idea it would be _that_ bad. But Ed and Alan had melted the other one with holy water, so he probably should have realized...

"So you told mom?" Michael asked, poking Sam in the chest and shoving him aside so he could follow him into the room and quietly shut the door behind them.

"Uh...she found out on her own," Sam shrugged.

"What?" Michael raised his eyebrows, "how?"

"She saw the window..." Sam nodded towards the bars lying on the ground at the foot of his bed, and the damaged drywall around the windowpane. He wasn't technically lying. He was just...keeping the details simple.

"Damn, who did that?" Michael crossed towards the foot of Sam's bed and took in the picture, and Sam didn't like that smirk on his brother's face _at all_. This wasn't funny! He was beginning to realize Mike might have gotten to a point where he'd always laugh at Sam's expense. Hell, he'd probably even tossed out a few ideas to that chain-smoking blonde jerk. Wait...oh god, the dream was coming back to him, and he remembered...

"Mike..." Sam's eyes grew wide as he backed into the wall.

Michael looked over at him, smirk fading, "what? What is it now?"

Sam licked his lips nervously, "he...he said you two were close..."

"...What?"

"In that shit-sucker dream you had them give me! He asked me why I thought you two were so close...what the hell did he mean by that, Mike?!"

Michael's eyes slowly widened, a mixture of emotions crossing his face. Growling, he clenched his fists and stomped towards Sam's bedroom door, "it means he's about to get a piece of my mind!"

"...Wait, Mike!" Sam rushed out after him, grabbing his brother's hand and trying to yank him back. Not very effective...it was like trying to pull a ten pound weight. He just ended up skidding along on the ground being drug after him. "Mike! Stop for a second, would ya?!"

Michael glared over at Sam and jerked his arm from his grasp, " **what?! What is it now, Sam?** "

Sam whimpered, backing away a few steps. Mike looked like he was about to rip his head off..."uh...you should...youshouldavoidmomtonight." Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed Michael wasn't about to go full-out ragey shit-sucker right now. He should've just kept his mouth shut...and seeing how mad his brother was, it only confirmed his fears. Somehow, some way, Mike had become that asshole's girlfriend.

"GIRLFRIEND!?" Michael practically shouted, grabbing Sam by the collar and giving him a good few shakes.

"Hey, I didn't say it, okay?! Mike! Stop! MIKE! YOU'RE HURTING ME!" Sam squirmed, his head and neck couldn't take this much punishment. Michael really needed to learn to control this freaky temper he was developing. He felt like he was in some kind of Halloween after school special, where 'steroids' had been crossed out on all the script pages and replaced with 'blood'.

Michael suddenly released Sam's shirt collar and backed away from him, smoothing his hands through his hair and slamming his back against the wall. "Shit...shit...shit..." He slid down to the ground and covered his face.

Sam stared down at him, confused and freaked the fuck out at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he sighed into his hands. "I just...it's not your fault. I think I need to stop coming here."

"What?" Sam squawked in disbelief, "no...Mike! C'mon...I'm fine, okay? I'm fine!" Sam yanked down his shirt collar, pointing at his neck, "see? It's not gonna bruise that bad..."

Michael glanced up at him and dropped his hands onto his knees, snorting, "Sam...one of these days I might _not care_ if I hurt you. I was really trying to make this work. Really. It's just...it's not working."

They were silent for awhile, until Sam finally got up the nerve to approach his older brother and sit down beside him. For awhile, they just sat there in each other's company, neither of them really knowing what to say. And what if Mike was right? If he could kill other people, and maybe even have fun with it...how long would it be before...well, how long would it be before he got so used to it, his family didn't count for much more than an easy meal?

Michael glanced over at him, "harsh. But not too far off..."

"Look, if you're freaking out this much about it, then maybe you're wrong?" Sam asked hopefully, glad he didn't have to voice those thoughts for Mike to have listened in on them. Even though it did make for some really uncomfortable situations...

The older Emerson shrugged, pushing a hand through his hair, "I'm beginning to think I just don't want to keep taking the risk."

"What do you want me to tell mom?"

"Well, for starters, tell her the rest of the story about what you did last night."

"How...what...how did-"

Michael leaned forward and jabbed at Sam's forehead, "it's a book up there, Sam. I'm not _that_ stupid."

"...You're a dick munching ass-face, but...okay. Yeah...when she cools down, I'll tell her."

Michael's face darkened at the insult, but he shook his head and dismissed it, "and...just don't say anything about this visit. If she starts to talk about trying to find me, just tell her I don't want to see her," Michael shrugged.

Narrowing his eyes, Sam shook his head, "that's going to hurt a lot more than just telling her you don't want to eat us, Mike."

"Hurts a lot less than being eaten, though, doesn't it?"

* * *

Alan and Edgar sat together on the ratty couch, silent as the old man looked down at them with a rifle tucked into his arms and leaned against the door frame. The whole house was dark, except for the light behind him coming from the kitchen, illuminating his silhouette.

"So, you said you was the Frog boys, huh?" The old man croaked. He'd just spent the last twenty minutes yelling in the other room on the phone, not making much sense, but neither Ed nor Alan had the courage to make a break for it after they'd been caught sneaking in through the back window. As it turned out, throwing their silverware at him hadn't been very effective methods of dealing with the old freak. And now here they were.

"You...are you going to shoot us?" Alan asked warily, squinting through the darkness.

"What? Waste a perfectly good silver bullet?" The old man scoffed, laughing and wheezing, practically hacking up his lung in the process.


	16. Chapter 16: No Such Thing as Good-Bye

Author's notes: So, eventually I'll probably do a present-day, or at least a 'several years down the road' sequel to this. Because...damn you Falcon, you unwittingly gave me ideas. Or wittingly. Maybe a combination. Next story is already in the process of being written, and it IS the colab work I mentioned. Very different approach than the other LB fics I've done so far. But I think you guys are going to like it. Anyway, tomorrow is the last chappie, and it's going to be a fun one.

* * *

Edgar pursed his lips. He didn't like this _one_ bit. Alan's theory that this old geezer was the hairy bastard who'd possibly murdered their parents just didn't seem to sit with him. And if what he was saying was true about that silver bullet, it would be a lot tougher to load his gun if his ammo kept burning him when he touched it. No. For once, Edgar was applying logic in an almost intelligent way. Almost. Ed had a personal theory that the real werewolf was Sam's grandpa. There didn't seem to be any other possible option. The clues were all there...he always had tiny animals at hand to stuff, Sam had suddenly gone crazy and decided he didn't want anything to do with them the second Edgar and Alan had come up with their werewolf hunting business plan, _and_...he'd cursed Alan out on the phone before hanging up on them when all his brother did was ask for help. Not to mention, old man Emerson looked a lot stronger than old man Farkas. It was a wonder this guy could even stand on two feet. _Him_? A werewolf?! That was just stupid.

"So, tell me about yourselves, boys. What made you decide to snoop on me, eh?" The geezer lumbered forward on shaking legs, reaching over to switch on the living room light. Edgar and Alan both flinched at the sudden wash of bright yellow practically blinding them. They'd been sitting in the dark for awhile now, since they'd been caught at around 4:30 in the afternoon, and this fogy had pretty much threatened to drag them bodily to the police if they didn't stay put. Then he locked them in the room with no means of escape, apparently did a bit of gardening since Sam hadn't shown up that day, and came back to shove a bunch of weeds in their faces. It was some sick game to agitate Edgar's hay fever, he just _knew_ it. This old dude was a mean son of a bitch. Then he'd examined their hands for ages, getting madder and madder as he did. He poked. He prodded. And just when Ed thought they couldn't take anymore, he went off into the kitchen to make a phone call. And drink a funky-looking smoothie.

"We already told you our names...we live at 2305 East Maplewood Drive, and our parents were killed by a werewolf...by _you_ last night!" Alan exclaimed, and Edgar could hear the building fear in his brother's tone. Could almost believe for just a second that maybe he was right...but then reminded himself that no, Sam's grandpa was the werewolf. Not this guy with the funky diet, ugly yard, shitty hospitality, and creepy-looking blue veins on his mouth.

"Alan...we need to talk," Edgar grunted, closer to his brother and whispering in his ear, " _this guy isn't the werewolf_. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. I've got a hunch."

"Not such a bad hunch," the old man wheezed with another choppy laugh as he hobbled even closer to lean down and breathe into Edgar's face, breath as hot as a furnace and stinking like a can of congealed dog food. "I can tell you both one thing, before I beat the ever-living daylights out of you for breaking my back porch window, if you're done with the finger-pointing."

Alan and Edgar exchanged a wary glance, then looked back towards Farkas. In the meantime, he'd switched over to breathing directly in Alan's face, scaring the shit out of him in the process. He cried out, throwing himself back on the couch and slamming his head just a little bit too hard into the wooden frame beneath the very thin layer of upholstery and stuffing. Edgar buttoned his lip, but he was sure Alan saw stars.

"I'm not a stinkin' werewolf, you little punks. _I'm your grand-daddy._ Nothin' broke into your house to kill your parents. Your dumbass daddy just lost control, and your stupider ma probably caused it. Figured something like this would happen sooner or later. Shame they had to spawn a couple of no-good shits to make things even worse."

"Hey!" Edgar blurted out, standing up, only to feel a bony hand shove him back down. Grandpa?! Mom said he'd been stampeded by a women's lib parade!

"You behave yourself now, I already put up with enough crap when your ma went off and joined that damned 'free love' movement. You wanna know something else, too? Your daddy used to be my apprentice. Dumbest damned kid I ever did meet. Deserved when that hairy bastard took a chunk out of his arm. If I'd known what was good for me, I'd have shot him then and there. Ran off with your ma. Had a couple of brats...never bothered calling me..." The old man began to ramble, stomping off towards the door to the kitchen.

Alan shifted beside him, rubbing at the back of his head and breathing heavily. Oh boy. Now he was having a panic attack. Oh god...now Ed could feel one coming on too! He grasped at his chest, breathing deep, spots forming in his field of vision. This was too much to handle in one night! The wrinkled old nut-sack of a man was playing mind games with them! Any minute...any minute now he'd turn around with a mouth full of fangs and pointy dog ears. Any minute now, he'd reveal it was all some elaborate joke, and he was really just trying to throw them off his trail. And he was in on it with Sam's grandpa. Any minute now! Ed hoped...

"You're staying the night," the old man wheezed again, hobbling around the kitchen. Ed could hear dishes clattering together. "Tomorrow, we're going down there to that house together, see what kinda shit your parents think they're doing. Bet you ten to one they're back there right now, probably got whatever shit they've been smoking or drinking out of their systems now...and if they're still alive...we're all gonna have a _real long talk_ , too. Thought I made myself perfectly clear I wouldn't skin and mount them both if they stayed out of my hair, but now they're off sending their dumbass kids to my house..."

There was a long pause, and then the smell of something burning.

"You stupid little bastards like beans?"

Edgar just knew that was code for something really bad...but apparently his stomach didn't agree.

"Take that as a yes," he huffed, "got plenty of them."

* * *

Sam sat on the end of his bed, Nanook resting by his feet, as he watched Michael stick a leg through the bedroom window.

"This is really it, then, Mike? You're just...you're forgetting about us?"

Michael very pointedly avoided looking at him, "you know that's not it. I already told you. I don't want to hurt any of you, and sooner or later that's gonna happen if I keep coming over. You know, I don't even remember where we bought my bike? Every night I wake up with less and less of me still...me. So maybe there's still the part left that wants to keep you and mom and even grandpa alive...I don't want to be caught with you guys the day that part's gone too."

"You're...you're forgetting things?" Sam's eyes widened, practically popped out of his head. He didn't remember any of those comics saying vampires got freaky-ass amnesia. Why hadn't Mike said anything before? He could have tried to help him...tried to do something! Not for the first time, Sam wondered if...maybe there was a cure to fix his brother. Maybe-

"No, Sam. I don't think so," Michael shook his head, responding to his brother's thoughts and not his actual question, wearing that same sardonic half-smile he always wore when he thought Sam was talking too much or acting dumb. The only expression he seemed to have anymore that made him look like the old Mike again.

"You gotta stop doing that, Mike," Sam groaned. And Michael reached towards Sam's desk to snatch up a piece of paper, balling it up in his fists and nailing him in the head with it.

"Hey! Asshole!" Sam exclaimed, laughing as he batted the paper ball to the ground.

"I'm not...I'm not saying it's all over, okay? I'm not saying that maybe some day I'll come back to see you guys. I've just got a lot of stuff to figure out. I just want to keep you guys safe until I do. So...just pretend I'm going on another road trip, huh?"

They both knew he was lying. They both knew he didn't have any future plans to ever come back...but...

"I'll miss you, Mike. You'll always be my brother, even if you're a stupid ugly shit-sucker with bad breath, girly hair, and-"

"Yeah. I get it."

"-an ugly jacket. That's a really ugly jacket, Mike. No style. I'm almost ashamed to call you my brother with a jacket like that."

Michael rolled his eyes, "good-bye, Sam." He slipped out of the window...and Sam dashed from his bed to watch him leave. But he could already hear a bike revving down below.

"...see ya later, Mike..." Sam whispered into the cold night air. "I'm gonna miss you, death breath..."

* * *

David grinned as Michael approached his bike, parked right beside it with a cigarette tucked in his lips and his arms casually crossed.

" _You told me I could come here alone_ ," Michael grumbled, though there wasn't a lot of heat to his anger. It was obvious he had other things on his mind. Probably finally gotten around to the inevitable choice David knew he was going to have to make. Good. The less he saw of his old family, the less trouble he'd have making his final transitions into his new life. Honestly, David's thoughts about it weren't entirely self-serving. If it kept up like this with these constant family visits, Michael would likely only end up depressing himself. And clearly, he'd managed to do that tonight anyway. Otherwise he'd have had a much bigger reaction to finding David waiting for him.

" _You did_ ," David raised his eyebrows in mock innocence, " _then me and the boys finished getting your surprise ready, and I decided to pop by and escort you home. I figured it was the least I could do, since you're about to do that favor for me..._ "

 _"I get the feeling you're about to round this shitty night out with a big fucking joke at my expense,"_ Michael replied, kicking his bike into gear.

" _Oh, I promise you it's no joke, Michael. And trust me on this...you're going to love it..._ " David pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it to the ground with a dark chuckle, following in Michael's wake, and quickly overtaking him. He wasn't lying, either. This was probably something they should have done a bit sooner, actually. He just hadn't expected to have to be the one to push his stubborn fledgling into it. But that was only going to make this game tonight that much sweeter. And now they didn't even have to worry about a human family forcing Michael to fight it anymore, either.


	17. Chapter 17: The Favor

Michael flinched when he heard the screams echoing from the very heart of the hotel, bouncing through cracks and crevices, reaching and trailing into the lobby to beckon them forward as they arrived on the scene.

" _You brought someone home? Why? Didn't Thorne go hunting tonight?_ " He glanced over at David, who'd already slung an arm around his shoulder and leaned forward with a smug grin. So, essentially, he looked the same as he always did. Self-satisfied and arrogant.

" _Ah, see, that's the thing. That favor you owe me...Michael, you never play with your food. You never have any fun with it._ "

Michael frowned, " _what do you mean? I chase them down all the time..._ "

" _Sure, you do. But that's about it. You get your hands on them, you feed, and it's all over."_

 _"What's your point?"_

Chuckling, David flew into the air and signaled for Michael to follow him, " _I want you to let go. Let everything go. You should have done this sooner, but I guess now I have to force your hand. So, you're going to give everyone a show tonight. And you're going to make it a good one._ "

* * *

She shouldn't have gone out alone tonight. She shouldn't have ignored her parents when they told her to stay away from the boys on the boardwalk. There were so many things Alex should and shouldn't have done. Most importantly, she should have believed all the stories she'd heard...and now it was too late. The turquoise mini dress she'd worn to bring out the green of her eyes was dirty and stained with mud, her polished nails chipped and scratched, cuticles bleeding from when she'd tried to dig fingers into the crumbling walls of the pit around her and gain purchase against a few rocks.

When she'd ridden with them to the bluffs, she'd somehow thought she was one of them. The mysterious group who people said never seemed to grow old...she'd wanted to be a part of that. Wanted to have stories told about _her_ , people in awe and fear of _her_. At worst, she'd just thought they were punks with insanely good PR. But that was the problem. She'd only lived in Santa Carla for about a year. How could she have known? And now...now she was trapped...and they were all staring down at her with those terrible eyes, laughing and pelting her with pebbles whenever she tried to plead with them to let her go.

"Please! Please, just let me go! I don't want to die down here!"

* * *

 _"So how do you want to do this? You just want me to poke her a few times and say something scary?"_ Michael glanced around at the others. They were standing a good dozen feet away from the pit now, where the girl couldn't see them. Somehow, being left alone seemed to freak her out even more, because her screams were beginning to get so loud he wanted to just rip her tongue out and shove it down her throat to get her to shut up.

 _"No, you gotta make it good, Mikey,"_ Paul insisted, reaching forward to yank at the earring in Michael's ear. " _Make her think you're just like her, huh?_ "

"... _That's not a bad idea_ ," Dwayne agreed, and he looked almost flabbergasted that Paul had come up with it.

 _"I like it,"_ David agreed.

" _This is stupid. I don't see why I have to do this..._ " Michael sighed, shrugging off his jacket and plucking the earring from his ear. He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and glanced back towards the pit. There was no way she'd believe he was a victim, just like her. If his own mother got scared when she looked at him, Michael seriously doubted this girl wouldn't lose her fucking mind.

Marko bit the thumb of his glove, snickering, " _you could probably do something else for Davey inst-_ " Michael punched him in the shoulder, effectively cutting him off with a growl. Marko dropped his hand and snarled, " _I was just trying to help!_ "

 _"I don't need your help, Marko,"_ Michael spat back.

" _Okay, girls, kiss and make up. We don't have all night,_ " David drawled, rolling his eyes.

Star trailed towards the pit, peeking down to watch the girl below, who'd become so hysterical she'd taken off one of her pumps and was beating it against the wall, trying to embed holes into it to she could gain better purchase on the crumbling rock. " _She's almost clever...I'll definitely give her that..._ "

" _If she was clever, she wouldn't be here, would she?_ " David chuckled.

* * *

Alex was beginning to lose hope, when she tossed her broken heel to the side and tried to dig her fingers into the hole she'd made...could barely fit three in there. Not nearly enough to help her climb...she pressed her forehead up against the rock and sobbed. She was going to die here...and nobody would ever know what happened to her...all alone. In the dark...

"LET ME GO, YOU CRAZY BITCH!" A loud shout interrupted her whimpers and cries, causing her to jerk back and gaze upwards to the lip of the pit, where a guy struggled to keep his footing as the girl in that monstrous gang gripped his shirt collar and shoved him closer and closer to the edge.

"No!" Alex wailed, "don't kill him!"

And then...he was falling. Falling through the air...hurtling to the ground...and when he finally hit the ground with a sickening crack, she knew he was dead. No one could survive a fall like that...

Alex rubbed at the tears in her eyes and stumbled towards the body, falling to her knees and reaching towards his neck to dig two fingers against the surprisingly cold skin, too cold for a living person...or even someone freshly dead. She was sure of it. She didn't even feel a hint of a pulse.

"Hey...hey..." Alex whispered, gripping at his black t-shirt and trying to give him a few good shakes. Maybe she was wrong...god, she hoped she was wrong. She wasn't a doctor, maybe she hadn't even felt the right place for his pulse...or hadn't waited long enough to find it. Starving to death down here would be bad enough, but with a dead body to keep her company...she was sure she'd go mad long before she expired.

And then...oh god...oh god, his eyes were open. He was squinting up into the sparse light from the top of the pit, and then looking right at her.

"Are you...are you hurt?" She asked, nibbling at her bottom lip, voice cracked from all the screaming and crying. She was sure she looked like a monster, clothing shredded and her heavily applied make-up dripping down her face in sticky streaks.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took in a deep breath, arms moving towards his own chest, "yeah...yeah, I think I'm okay."

She almost laughed from relief, "here...let me help you up," she urged him, putting a hand behind his shoulder as he tried to heft himself into a sitting position. Wow...he was in better shape than he'd looked. Maybe the fall wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Her eyes darted up towards the top of the pit where the monstrous group had gathered again, faces twisted into nightmarish grimaces...eyes glowing like fire...

"How did you get here?" She asked, inspecting his face and frowning. Something seemed very off about him...maybe he'd been here longer. Maybe they'd kept him somewhere else, and just decided to save space by putting him in here with her now. That must be it. It was the only way she could explain why his face looked so hardened and cruel. Which meant they probably planned to draw this out for a very long time. That was okay, she decided. If she had someone to die with, someone to keep her company in the darkness, at least...at least she wouldn't be as scared. Who knows? Maybe they could figure out a way to escape together...

* * *

" _He's not going to pull it off. She can already tell he's not normal,_ " Dwayne remarked, watching the scene unfold beneath them.

 _"Is that a bet, Dwayne? I think he'll pass with flying colors. The denial is strong with this one,"_ Paul replied, leaning into Star at his side and pinching at her rear. She jumped and glared at him, then back down at the pair in the pit below.

" _She's going to be scared when he kills her. Isn't that the whole point?_ " Star rolled her eyes.

" _Yeah, but where's the fun in a bet like that?_ " Marko nudged her shoulder, tossing his braids back over his shoulder, " _you gotta make it interesting. Like me, for instance...I think they'll get a bit of nookie in before he seals the deal. That's what I'd do, anyway_."

David flicked the ashes from a half-finished cigarette, tucking it between his lips and closing his eyes, " _he does that and they're both dead. I seriously doubt Michael's nearly as hard up as you are, Marko. Hell, it's been long enough. Its about time he learned to really cut loose. Already would have if he'd actually killed that fishy twerp when he got the chance_ ," he referred to the only member of Shane's gang Michael had almost offed before letting him run off and then playing his own disappearing act to boot.

* * *

"I don't know...it's all kinda hazy," Michael shrugged, leaning close to the girl for 'support.' She was nice enough. Dumb, but nice. Clean, too. Under that sticky sweet body spray she'd doused herself in, and the scent of mud and dirt, the blood pumping through her was strong and young. Since half of his diet the last couple of weeks had been junkies, he had to admit he didn't mind having a meal like her once in awhile. But...dragging it out...something about that still really bugged him. He'd just have to let that part go, like David said. Since he wasn't going back to see Lucy or Sam anymore, it didn't seem to make much sense to cling to that final scrap of humanity anyway. And frankly, it was beginning to exhaust him, too. Fighting what he was. Fighting what he really wanted to do.

"Don't worry, we're going to get out of this," she insisted, looking about at the pit around them. "We just have to wait for them to go away...they can't hang around forever. When they're gone, maybe I can climb on your shoulders, or...or I don't...I don't know, but we'll figure something out," she was babbling now, pulling away from him to snatch her broken heel up from the ground. "If we work together, maybe we can dig out some steps into the wall..."

Michael took the shoe from her and watched the girl stumble back to her project, almost frenzied as she scooped up her remaining pump to start to work again. Having someone else there with her seemed to give her a new burst of energy. He could hear it, the way her heart had begun to pump anew at a much faster rhythm. It was tantalizing...

"My name's Alex, by the way. I guess you probably got into the same kind of mess I did, huh?" She called over her shoulder, not realizing he'd already climbed to his feet, and was slowly drawing closer to her. He let the broken shoe fall to the ground the moment he was within a foot, so close he could hear the song of her blood crying out to him...he hadn't eaten tonight. He was in a bad mood. This was just what he needed, to forget.

"So, what's your name?" She asked him, when she felt a clawed hand suddenly dig into her shoulder. The girl stopped scratching at the hall with her shoe abruptly, eyes widening like a terrified dog. "...You..." She gasped, as he pulled her around and shoved the girl against the wall, fangs dripping with saliva.

"You're one of them!" She screeched, throwing her shoe ineffectively into his face and trying to kick and struggle in his grasp. He could end it now, but then there wouldn't be a 'show'. Then, he wouldn't be 'playing with his food'.

"Michael. You know, like the angel," he gave her a sardonic half-smile, leaning forward to sniff at her neck and lick along the skin, tasting fear and salt...

She whimpered, "why are you monsters doing this to me? What did I ever do to you?!"

He paused, as if in thought, pulling the girl close to his chest and forcing her to sink down to the ground with him while he drug jagged claws through her hair, just barely scraping at the scalp, "you didn't do anything. Most of them don't...but I've got an idea. Tell me a bedtime story. If it's good, we might just let you go. If not...well, I think you know what'll happen. He licked along her neck again, this time dragging his fangs across her skin just enough to draw a few droplets of blood. It was going to be hard to push back the hunger long enough for her to try and come up with some bullshit story...but that would be just long enough for the fear to pump through her veins and make the blood taste that much better.

So Michael finally let go. And when he was done...he didn't have one scrap of guilt left. David was right. He really should have done this a lot sooner...

* * *

Author's final note: Well. Hope you liked this last chapter. Don't forget to check out the newest story I've just started with Kagemirai, 'Lost Call'. It's going to be a little bit different from my usual fare, but still crazy. Maybe even crazier.


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